


Bonham

by missing_boy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexual Sirius, Fluff, I needed some joy in my life so I wrote this, I'm sorry but I can't see Sirius with Remus but he's definitely bi, James Potter is a dick, M/M, Marauders, Marauders' Era, Not all Slytherins are evil, Wordcount: 30.000-50.000, and too many characters, but most of them kinda are, horrible tropes, just a fluffy teenage romance, maybe not, maybe smut, so is Severus, that's up to you, with magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 17:57:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11560407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missing_boy/pseuds/missing_boy
Summary: "Every true love and friendship is a story of unexpected transformation. If we are the same person before and after we loved, that means we haven't loved enough." - Elif Shafak.Sirius loves having a fan club. Crispin loves to be left alone. Somehow they end up loving each other.





	1. Welcome To Hogwarts

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE DO READ THIS
> 
> I wrote this in early 2017 over the course of two days, when I was going through a really rough phase and needed to write some cheesy teenage romance. This is the result. Don’t expect anything fancy. 
> 
> I wanted to give Sirius some happiness, as I've always felt like the guy needed a good hug. 
> 
> Fun fact: I know the trope of a transfer student coming to Hogwarts is as Mary-Sue as it gets but I wanted to explore Hogwarts through the eyes of someone who isn’t eleven, and that was about the only way. (And I wanted to use the word “No-Maj” because it’s so bloody ridiculous.) 
> 
> For the purpose of this story the canon timeline was ignored (or I just completely forgot about it, oops). Essentially, the Marauders attend Hogwarts from 1991-1998. While it can still be read with the 70's in mind, some pop-culture references might not be applicable. Or, to be more precise: the books mentioned were mostly published after the 70's. So if you care about details like that, sorry. 
> 
> Also: this story works fine without smut, but if you want it I'll put it in. Because I've written it, just didn't put it in the chapters.

High Fidelity is a truly horrendous novel, but some No-Maj had left it behind on the tube at South Kensington and Crispin forgot to pack a book in his shoulder bag, so he doesn’t have much of a choice if he wants to keep himself from being bored to death during the awfully long train ride to Hogwarts. There is some parchment and a quill in his bag but it will be another two months until he will come of age, so using his usual spells is out of the question, and writing with his own hand is a rather tedious task, especially in an old train like this, jolting over the tracks, so the book has to be enough. Although, he thinks while he reads about yet another of the protagonist’s pathetic past relationships, he ought to slow down. The train is just rolling out of King's Cross and the pages are already melting away between his fingers. Crispin forces his eyes to take in each letter individually, letting them become words in his head, and the words become sentences. It’s highly annoying, reading like this, but it will have to do. At least he is alone. A few other pupils had peeked into his compartment but nobody has opened the door, not even the group of giggling first years, if only because he has given them a lingering stare until they disappeared. The silence is precious, he knows he won’t have another quiet minute when the train arrives.

  
But of course, as life usually goes, a loud voice sounds right outside his compartment the second he finishes his thought.

  
“ … - should get a cabin first but of course you had to court Evans first and now the entire train is, as I have predicted, full“, a boy says and Crispin glances over the edge of his book just in time to see a group of four teenagers, all around his age, show up in front of the door. One of them peaks into the compartment, a shiny badge forming the letter P pinned to his worn-out jumper. Crispin meets his eyes and sighs quietly when the other boy's brows furrow as he, very obviously, tries to place the stranger.

  
“There’s enough space for us in here”, Crispin can hear him say quietly, and his companions turn around and stare, first at the empty seats and then openly at Crispin as if they had just been presented with the last living unicorn. He doesn’t mind, it will happen more often in the nearest future, but he does mourn the loss of his privacy when the door opens and the boy with the badge enters, ignoring his friend’s objection that the compartment isn’t, in fact, empty.

  
“Come on, Sirius”, P-boy says and sits down next to Crispin, the rusty buckles of his bag scratching over the stiff leather of Crispin's. They nod at each other, and the thin lines of P-boy's lips curl upwards.

  
“Yeah, come on, Sirius. And it’s not my fault, by the way”, one of the others says and pushes the boy named Sirius, who is still standing outside giving Crispin a wary stare, right into the compartment until he collapses on the seat opposing Crispin, immediately taking up the entire legroom for himself. Crispin wouldn't be surprised to find Sirius' picture printed somewhere in his book as he is the spitting image of the self-absorbed and supposedly indifferent High Fidelity's protagonist's teenage self.  
“Hands off, James”, he says and pulls down his battered The Rusty Cauldrons t-shirt that slid halfway up his chest thanks to his friend's manhandling. James laughs and nudges Sirius’ side as he sits down himself.

  
“As I was saying, not my fault. Pete was busy courting Millicent -“

  
“It isn’t courting when she is already my girlfriend”, the last of the group says with his back turned towards them as he closes the door. Crispin hasn't really noticed him before. It's clear he is that friend who has to walk behind the group when the path isn't big enough. Crispin, his eyes finding their way back to his book, stores the information away in his mental list about Hogwarts’ students. It’s a very short list as of now but it will grow immensely over the next few weeks and every detail might be of importance one day.

  
“Girlfriend? How did that happen?”, James asks and Crispin finds himself listening instead of reading. Their topic is not any better than the novel but at least this way he is learning something about his new school mates, who are significantly more interesting than Rob Fleming.

  
“Yeah, listen up James, maybe he can teach you how to finally get Evans to date you”, Sirius says loudly, as if he and James are two carriages apart instead of sitting right next to each other.

  
“Shut up.” A thud sounds, followed by a barking laughter and suddenly the two boys are wrestling with each other, arms and legs flailing. Crispin crams his own feet in the small space between his seat and the heater so he won’t get kicked, and reminisces about the solitude of his attic room in his family’s new house in London, his padded chair on the roof deck, piano music playing quietly in the background. He should have brought his walkman, despite the warning that electronic devices won’t work in Hogwarts.

  
Sirius yields and James retreats with a triumphant shout, his glasses dangling from his left ear, when the door is opened and a girl sticks her head in, frowning at them before looking directly at P-boy, the same badge pinned to her jumper.

  
“Hey Remus, prefects meeting is about to start, you coming with me?” P-boy, Remus, nods, grabs his bag and gets up.

  
“I’ll catch you later”, he says to his friends and follows her out of the compartment. A prefect, Crispin thinks and flips a page, for appearances’ sake. He had been asked to become prefect himself, last year, but had politely declined. Taking care of younger children and running around reinforcing rules isn’t exactly his definition of time well spent.

  
“I don’t know you”, James says suddenly and it takes a moment before Crispin realises he is talking to him. He glances at the other boy over the edge of his book, purposefully ignoring that the other two are again staring at him as well, and waits for a question for him to answer. Until now James has merely stated the obvious.  
“Who are you?”, James asks when he finally seems to realise that Crispin won’t start talking on his own.

  
“Crispin Bonham”, he answers.

  
“I don’t know you, Crispin Bonham”, James repeats, attempting to mimic Crispin’s unusual way of speaking. It’s really just a combination of his father’s archaic Received Pronunciation and his own habit of drawing together the ends and beginnings of words, but while it merely stood out as exotic before, it sounds nothing but out of place back here. Not that Crispin cares.

  
It takes James a moment until he notices that Crispin has no intention to further participate in the conversation, but when he does, his eyes narrow slightly and his jaw tightens as he leans forward in his seat, elbows on his knees. It’s at that moment that Crispin decides he doesn’t like James. He usually tries not to judge people prematurely, but James’ sheer arrogance definitely rubs him the wrong way.

  
“What are you doing here?”, James demands to know, talking like a strict father to his misbehaving son. Crispin resists the urge to roll his eyes. Two can play this game.  
“I’m on my way to Hogwarts”, he says and fakes a quizzical look, “This is the Hogwarts Express, isn’t it?” James grits his teeth before he throws himself back with an exaggerated sigh, arms now crossed in front of his chest. For a moment there is silence in the compartment, then a lot of things happen at almost the same time. James’ right hand moves to his side, pulling his wand out of his pocket and Crispin immediately drops his book, his left following James’ example.

  
“Calvario!”, James shouts and Crispin manages to draw his wand just in time to cast a shield in front of him, repelling the red spark hurtling towards him. Sirius shrieks and drops to the floor when the spell hits the wall at the exact spot where his head has been only a split of a second ago. James, apparently stunned by Crispin’s quick reflexes, only gapes at him, and Crispin uses that moment to disarm him. His Expelliarmus charm is wonky as usual and James’ wand ends up in Peter’s lap, but Crispin doesn’t care. He has long accepted that spells aren’t his strong suit.

  
James grunts and leans over to take back his wand, a flush appearing on his cheeks. Whether it’s from anger or embarrassment, Crispin can’t tell, but he assumes it’s a combination of both. Anyhow, he doesn’t loosen the grip on his own wand, although he lowers it, showing that he isn’t interested in continuing their little quarrel. This is not exactly how he has pictured his first day and it is definitely far from his usual endeavour of staying out of trouble.

  
“James, if you’d have hit me, I swear I would have plucked out every single one of your hairs individually”, Sirius says from where he is still lying in the aisle, one elbow digging into the toecap of Crispin's boot. He pulls himself up until his back is leaning against the side wall, warily glancing from Crispin to James and back, as if he was considering if he could deem it save to return to his seat.

  
“I’ll go and find Evans”, James snaps, his jaw tight, darting another glare in Crispin’s direction, and he storms out of the compartment. Peter flinches when the sliding door slams shut and he shifts on his seat, head ducked, his face reminding Crispin of that of a frightened animal. He mumbles something about his girlfriend, unable to look neither Sirius nor Crispin in the eyes, then gets up from his seat and flees the scene as well.

  
“Yeah, of course, abandon me, you tossers!”, Sirius shouts after his friends, but as he turns his head to look at Crispin there's a grin plastered all across his face. “Quick reflexes. Most people stand no chance against James.” Crispin stifles a snort as he puts his wand back into his pocket and watches the other boy climb back onto his seat, his fingers running through his long curly hair. “Man, that’s been a close call. I’m just glad that spell didn’t hit me. It would have taken years to grow it all back and it’s finally at a decent length.” He bends down and picks the book up from the floor, its paperback cover now torn and the first few pages crumbled.

  
“Ah, shit, sorry about your book”, Sirius says, grin melting into a frown as he glances down.

  
“It isn’t mine, I found it on the tube.”

  
“Oh. Well then…” Sirius throws it on the empty space next to Crispin. “It’s a muggle book, isn’t it?” Crispin nods, because yes, it is. There aren’t that many fictional novels written by wizards and most are frankly bad, at least in Crispin’s eyes. Not that this particular exemplar is any better, but generally speaking the muggle world offers a much bigger range of books. “Well, I don’t think I’ve ever read one. A muggle book I mean. Though I know shit about books anyway.”

  
When Crispin doesn’t react, Sirius falls silent as well, face going entirely slack, and he begins to fiddle with the hem of his t-shirt. He talks too much and too loud but Crispin decides he doesn’t dislike him, partially because he can’t put everybody he meets on his mental list of people he doesn’t want to talk to, and because he is usually rather indifferent about others. As long as they don’t bother him, he doesn’t care.

  
“Okay, Crispin… who are you? I mean, you’re obviously not a first year but I’ve never seen you before.” Apparently his seam wasn’t interesting enough to hold his attention for long, because Sirius is looking at him again. And Crispin has to revise his first impression: while Sirius' features all melt into each other his eyes are sharp, attentive, sparkling with a certain intelligence.

  
“I originally went to Ilvermorny, but my family moved back to London this year so I decided to transfer to Hogwarts for my last two years.” It’s the explanation Crispin has settled on a few weeks ago, the one he knows he will have to repeat dozens of times after arriving at Hogwarts. Of course it’s also the truth, but the shortest version of it.

  
“Ilvermorny?”, Sirius asks and raises his eyebrows, “But why not stay there? I couldn’t imagine leaving my friends and starting over thousands of miles away.” Crispin shrugs, not intending to tell him there isn’t anyone he will miss. There had been people who considered him a friend but nobody who can’t be replaced. He usually gets along with most people as long as they don’t try to get too close.

  
“Wait, are you going to get sorted with the first years? We have houses - do you have houses at Ilvermorny?” Ilvermorny is based off stories about Hogwarts, so they do have houses over there. Crispin nods.

  
“Thunderbird, Wampus, Horned Serpent and Pukwudgie.”

  
“Here we have Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin”, Sirius starts to explain, as if Crispin wouldn’t know already, “Basically Ravenclaw is for the know-it-alls, Hufflepuff for the losers, Slytherins for the arseholes and Gryffindor for the cool kids.” Sirius laughs. “I’m a Gryffindor, of course. We all are.” He waves at the empty seats next to them.

  
“I see you are not prone to prejudice.” At that, Sirius throws his head back and barks out another laughter.

  
“It’s not prejudice when it’s true.”

  
“It is good to know how you will define my character.” Crispin wonders if Sirius would have said the same if he knew he had already been sorted. Dumbledore brought the Sorting Hat with him during their meeting at the beginning of summer to save him the awkward moment of the sorting ceremony among a group of eleven year olds, and there is already a green and silver patch on the front of his new robe. Would Sirius even talk to him? It doesn’t matter, not really, but he is curious now. His father warned him about the stupid rivalry between Hogwarts' houses and Slytherin's reputation.

  
“What house do you think I will end up with?”, he asks, feigning ignorance.

  
“Let’s see”, Sirius says, bites his bottom lip and stares at him, his grey eyes scanning him slowly. “As quick as you reacted you can’t be a Hufflepuff. You also can’t be a Slytherin because a Slytherin would have either insulted James or set him on fire. Although a Gryffindor would probably have set him on fire as well, I mean, I know I would have. Which leaves Ravenclaw, and that makes kinda sense with your reading and the way you talk and everything.” He seems happy with his deduction, and he isn’t too far off. The Sorting Hat had indeed wavered between Slytherin and Ravenclaw, the respective houses of his father and mother.

  
“Therefore you think I’m a know-it-all?”

  
“Uh”, Sirius says, the corners of his lips curling upwards, and he scratches the back of his head, “Well, are you?”

  
“It appears you will find out soon.” Sirius snickers and opens his mouth to say something when the door bolts open and James returns, his cheeks even more flushed then when he had left. He collapses next to Sirius and hides his face in his friend’s shoulder.

  
“It went that well, hm?”, Sirius asks, seemingly having forgotten about their conversation, and gently pats James’ head. James sighs and starts to talk about a girl named Evans and his unsuccessful flirting, and after a few seconds Crispin picks up his book and continues reading, listening only halfway because he really doesn’t care about James’ love interest. At some point Remus returns, and soon James and Sirius start debating over a Quaffle throwing contest they apparently had during the summer during which Remus fell asleep.

 

The Hogwarts Express is dashing through the Scottish Highlands, and the sun is disappearing behind the mountains when Crispin finishes the book and he lets it disappear with his third attempt, which Sirius comments with a smirk in his direction. Gladly he seems to be the only one who noticed, as Crispin is sure James would have said something otherwise. But James is too busy describing yet another one of his unbelievable Quidditch manoeuvres, not minding that nobody really seems to listen, except maybe for Peter, who came back about half an hour ago.

  
“We should get changed”, Remus says after looking at his watch, “I’ve got to go and make sure everybody finds their way out of the train.” He opens his bag and pulls out his robes, the Gryffindor crest displayed on the front.

  
“Finally”, Sirius sighs and shuffles on his seat, his calf rubbing Crispin’s thigh, obviously not grasping the concept of personal space with his feet wedged between Crispin and Remus, bumping against either of them with each rumbling of the train. “I’m starving.”

  
“Because you forgot the lunch my Mum made for you”, James says.

  
“I didn’t know she would do that!”

  
“Of course she did, have you ever seen me starve on the train?”

  
“I’m not you…”, Sirius mumbles and slides off his seat, pulling his own robe out of his bag. Crispin observes him, continuously adding more and more information to his mental list. Figuring out that Sirius moved in at James’ this summer hadn’t been hard, although he doesn’t know why yet. It is also rather obvious that James’ family is wealthy, it only takes a look at the clothes the boy is wearing, all new and perfectly fitting.

  
“Thank Merlin you’re not, I like being one of a kind”, James says.

  
“Oh, of course, you can’t-“

  
Before Sirius can finish his sentence, Remus interrupts him, informing his friends he will catch up to them later, then he leaves, and the three other boys continue to talk about the forthcoming feast. Peter and Sirius are taking turns at listing every possible dish they can think of when Remus suddenly returns, sticking his head into the compartment.

  
“Crispin, Wilkes is waiting for you in the front, he’s the Slytherin prefect”, Remus says, and the other boys fall silent instantly, their heads turning towards him. While James’ eyes are narrowed, Sirius’ widen in surprise, as if Crispin’s clothes disappeared at once revealing a merman’s body. Crispin ignores them both.

  
“Thank you”, he says as he gets up, and he grabs his bag and walks straight past Remus.

  
“Of course”, he can hear James say at the same time that Sirius mutters “Slytherin?” in what sounds like utter disbelief, then the door closes behind him and he heads to the front of the train.

 

  
He has to push his way through crowds of students, and it’s horribly noisy with all the chatting and shouting, and everybody seems to be looking for something or someone or is just overly excited about their imminent arrival. When he finally makes it to the carriage with the word ‘prefect’ written on the door he puts on his new robe and runs his fingers over the crest on his chest, as he has done embarrassingly often during the past two weeks. Then he closes his eyes for a second before he raises his hand to knock. It only takes a few heartbeats until it opens and a stocky boy stands in front of him, dressed in a Slytherin school uniform, eyes first set on Crispin’s neck.

  
“Crispin?”, the boy asks as he lifts his chin, and a warm smile appears on his face when Crispin nods. “Hi, I’m Wilkes, I’m supposed to show you everything.” He extends his hand.

  
“Thank you”, Crispin says, although he truly doesn’t believe it is necessary, and he meets Wilkes with an equally firm grip as they shake hands. However, he thinks, it probably won’t hurt to get to know some of his house mates and who would be better for introductions than a prefect?

  
“So you went to Ilvermorny? Is it true that the houses choose their students themselves?”

  
“Yes. Sometimes multiple houses want you and then the choice is entirely up to you.” Personally, he had been invited to join both Thunderbird and Horned Serpent, leaving him with the choice between the soul and the mind. Ironically, he went with his heart when he made his decision for the former.

  
“Did you get to choose?”

  
“Yes.” Wilkes doesn’t ask any further and Crispin doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t think the boy knows anything about the houses’ differences anyway.

  
“Alright. I’ve heard you had to spend the whole day with Potter and his friends. I probably don’t have to tell you this but as the new kid I’m going to give you some advice: Stay away from them. You don’t want to be seen with people like them.” Crispin doesn’t care who he is supposed to be seen with or not, but again he is curious.

  
“Why?”, he asks all innocently, even managing a slightly confused expression to show on his face. Wilkes snorts and pulls him into the seemingly empty prefect’s carriage.

  
“Lupin is a dirty, sickly half-blood, Pettigrew… just look at the little rat, he probably follows Potter into the shower to rub his back. Speaking of Potter, he’s the most arrogant cunt you’ll ever meet. And don’t get me started on Black. If you ask me, he’s the worst of the lot. Traitor to one of the greatest pure-blood families in Britain. Anyway, you will quickly learn what really matters at Hogwarts.” He snorts again. “Or in life.”

  
Crispin doesn’t know who is who but it isn’t hard to figure out that Potter is James, and Pettigrew is Peter, and his guts are telling him that Black is Sirius, because it would explain why he prefers to stay at James’ house.

  
“I suppose I will”, he answers, already knowing that Wilkes won’t end up among his favourite people but will probably be useful to keep around.

  
“What do your parents do?”, Wilkes asks him casually after a brief, awkward moment of silence.

  
“My mother works on inventing new healing methods, my father researches ancient spells for the ministry”, he answers truthfully, aware of what Wilkes is actually asking about. Despite both his parents being wizards, he isn’t a pure-blood, all four of his grandparents had been muggles. It doesn’t matter to Crispin, if anything he thinks it’s beneficial. He knows both worlds and truly considers them equal. There is much to achieve for a wizard in the muggle world.

  
“Slytherin?”

  
“My father, yes.” One of the very few muggle born exceptions. Crispin chose Slytherin over Ravenclaw because he shares much more traits with his father than with his mother, and he knows that despite the prejudices, his father succeeded in his house.

  
Before Wilkes can ask any more questions, the train slowly comes to a halt, and Crispin turns to look out of the window. They’re at Hogsmeade, as a sign at the station shows, and Wilkes shoulders his bag, motioning Crispin to follow him. Together they leave the train and weave through the crowd of students to a large row of carriages. There are no horses in front of them, but one by one starts moving along the path, up the hill where a huge castle sits enthroned above a forest, its windows alit, like hundreds of yellow stars sparkling in the distance.

  
“Welcome to Hogwarts”, Wilkes says, grinning, and ushers him into one of the carriages. Crispin sits down and leans his head against the window, staring up at the castle. This is going to be interesting. 


	2. Poems About the Dark Lord

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought about James Potter a lot while re-reading this chapter. But as this is written from a more... well.. Slytherin kind of view, I ultimately decided to leave everything the way it is. But be warned, I'm serious about the "James Potter is a dick" tag.

As expected, the castle is much gloomier and colder than Ilvermorny’s, but it’s definitely not any less impressive. The Great Hall is even greater than the name suggests, with an endless ceiling and high arches and five long, solid tables; one for each of the houses, one for the teachers. A group of clearly intimidated first years is lead into the Hall by a fierce looking witch named Professor McGonagall, as Crispin is told, and one by one they approach the Sorting Hat, placed on a single chair in front of the teacher’s table.

  
During the Sorting Ceremony Crispin sits between Wilkes and a boy named Severus Snape, who eyes him as if he is facing a Hippogriff, not certain whether the beast is going to kneel down or not. By now he has repeated his rehearsed story about a dozen times, but fortunately the other Slytherins didn’t push further. Wilkes has simply introduced him, urging his house mates to integrate him as quickly as possible, and Crispin feels quite welcomed. Apparently joining the house is enough reason for most of them to accept him and he is grateful for that. While he is not necessarily looking for friends, he isn’t trying to make enemies either.

  
“See the black bloke and the dwarf?”, Wilkes asks when the last kid walks towards the Hufflepuff table, and he nods at his left. Crispin follows with his eyes, scanning the table until he finds the two. “Donovan Marx and Alistair Wilbert. The two of them, Sev and Evan will be sharing a dorm with you.”

  
Evan Rosier, whom Crispin was introduced to earlier, stops talking to his girlfriend when he hears his name and winks at them.

  
“Hey Wilkes, got a fancy nickname for me too?”, he asks.

  
“Princess”, Wilkes answers, and Evan’s girlfriend bursts into laughter while Evan only flips him off.

  
“I like that, it definitely fits”, the girl says when she finally manages to calm down a little. Evan wraps one arm around her shoulders and pulls her against his body.  
“Stop fraternising with the enemy, Tilda.”

  
“What’s Crispin’s name?”, she asks, ignoring her boyfriend. “I’d go with something like Gloomy Beauty.” Crispin can’t help but raise his eyebrows a little, and he decides to join the laughter that arises when Evan gives her an outraged glance.

  
After they have all filled their stomaches to the brim with a variety of delicious foods he follows the others through the castle down to the dungeons. The hallways are crooked and contorted and magical, and Crispin knows he will definitely get lost a few times, no matter how much he focusses on his steps. They finally come to a halt in front of a stone wall, which silently slides to the side when Wilkes mutters the word _cogency_. Crispin briefly wonders who chose that kind of password, but the thought disappears as soon as he steps through the hole.

  
Beneath lies the Slytherin common room, tinted green and filled with low backed black and green leather chairs and sofas, and dark wooded tables, chairs and cupboards. Large tapestries show ancient scenes of what Crispin suspects to be former Slytherins, giving the entire room an even more grand atmosphere. Two arched corridors are set at each side, one leading to the boys’, the other to the girls’ dormitories, as Severus explains while they cross the room. The dark colours make it appear much smaller than it is, pressing down the ceilings, but Crispin likes it nonetheless. It has a calming effect on him, and he tries to take in all the details while he follows Severus to the left corridor. Tiny serpents etched into armrests, black skulls holding the books on their shelves, a few wet patches on the rough stone walls. They’re beneath the lake, Crispin realises as he runs his fingers over the stone, drops of water wetting the tips. The corridor has a row of doors to its left and right, with metal signs besides them, each listing four to six names in cursive letters.

  
“This is ours”, Severus says and stops in front of one of the heavy looking wooden doors. Crispin glances at the sign and finds his own name at the top, right below the number six. Severus enters the dorm, and Crispin follows suit. Five four-poster beds are neatly arranged in the room, each with green and silver curtains and a huge trunk at the foot. Round green lamps are hanging from the ceiling on chains, and behind the two large windows at the back is nothing but green-tinted darkness.

  
“This door leads to the bathroom”, Severus explains quietly and points at the only other door, “But there’s another big one at the end of the corridor, with a few showers as well. And this”, he moves his hand until it points at the bed to the far right, which seems to have been put there as some sort of afterthought, wedged in between another bed and the bathroom door, “is your bed.”

  
Crispin thanks him, grabs his suitcase, which had been brought to their room, and heads over to his bed to start unpacking. One after another his new roommates enter, and Crispin mostly listens to the others as they talk, desperate to absorb everything. For example he quickly learns that Donovan and Alistair spent the holidays in Ireland together, and that Tilda, Evan’s girlfriend, is already in her final year, causing Evan to consider dropping out of school earlier.

  
"Anyway, she wants a house by the sea, so we'll look at a few in December”, Evan says as he shoves his now empty suitcase underneath his bed. “Speaking of girls… Hey Sev, how’s it going with Lily? Still ignoring you?” Severus flinches visibly, a sock falling out of his hands, and his face disappears behind the slightly greasy strands of his hair as he lowers his head.

  
“Oh, come on mate, I’ve told you before, it’s better this way. You can’t be with her if you want to follow the Dark Lord.” Crispin slows down as he neatly folds his jumpers, eager not to miss a word. He has heard about this Dark Lord before. Not that he had ever been a topic at Ilvermorny, but his mother had brought the name up when she tried to convince him to stay overseas for his last two years. According to his Dad this Dark Lord is merely a disillusioned wizard consumed by bigotry and the yearning for power for nothing but power’s sake, his promises appealing to those find fulfilment in such. In short, a more selfish version of Gellert Grindelwald, whose motives, if Crispin is being honest with himself, sound rather solid in their cores. Not that he would ever share this opinion with anybody.

  
“Hey Crispin, ever heard of the Dark Lord?”, Evan asks, and Crispin pushes Gellert Grindelwald aside as he turns around.

  
“Not much”, he says, curious to hear Evan’s explanation.

  
“Good. We’ll tell you everything you need to know. He’s our saviour, ready to cleanse our world from all the mud and emerging the wizarding world to its designated glory.”

  
“Shut up, Evan, you sound like a fanatic”, Alistair chimes in, and the split of a second later there are two wands directed at him, Severus’ and Evan’s.

  
“Are you saying the Dark Lord is a fanatic? Are you -“

  
“Calm down.” Alistair shrugs. “I’m not. Just maybe you should explain everything to him without sounding like you’re reciting a poem. It’s easier to understand that way.” At that, Evan laughs and lowers his wand.

  
“Fair enough. Crispin, I promise by the end of this year we will be reciting poems about the Dark Lord together.” Crispin doubts it but nods anyway, smiling softly when he sees Alistair roll his eyes behind Evan's back.

 

 

His first two days at Hogwarts fly past, as he is mostly busy finding his way around the school and learn as much as possible about the teachers, houses and students. In the end it all works the same as at Ilvermorny. There are a few new words for him to learn, different terms and regulations, but he adapts quickly. Hogwarts has enough students to make him blend in with the crowd and he doesn’t get stared at half as often as he had expected.

  
In his free time he wanders around the school grounds, reads secretly with the cover masked as school books, or talks to his class mates. From the boys in his dormitory he likes Alistair best, mostly because he seems to be as indifferent about things as Crispin himself. He warns him not to take the others’ talk about the Dark Lord too seriously, telling him that the movement is merely a school boy’s idea of a perfect rebellion, and that it most certainly isn’t necessary to join them to be a real Slytherin. Not that he tells him what a real Slytherin is, but Alistair seems to take a lot of pride in his house.

  
“You took Potions, right?”, Alistair asks him on Wednesday morning as they are climbing up the stairs to the Entrance Hall, just in time for breakfast. He isn't actually a dwarf, but he is small enough that Crispin could comfortably rest his arm on the boy's head.

  
“Yes.”

  
“Are you any good?”

  
“Decent.” He is better with potions than with spells, maybe because of the countless times he has helped his mother as a child. Pursuing a career like hers has never interested him, but the endless possibilities of potions are rather fascinating.

  
“Perfect. Severus won’t help me anymore after I accidentally set him on fire last year and I barely qualified for the N.E.W.T. class.”

  
“I’ll work with you if you help me with Transfiguration.”

  
“Deal.” They halt in the middle of the Entrance Hall to shake hands on it, when a bright shout cuts through the low noise of tired students chatting on their way to breakfast.

  
“Engorgio Skullus!” Crispin spins around quickly enough to see James Potter halfway down the stairs at the other side of the hall, Sirius right next to him, his wand pointing directly at Alistair’s head. He considers pushing his house mate out of the way but instantly decides against it, for two simple reasons. First, he doesn’t want to risk getting hit himself, and second, he can see Professor McGonagall emerging behind James. Therefore he watches as Alistair’s head swells under the hex, bumps forming on his forehead, his crooked nose doubling in size, the left side of his mouth suddenly looking as if he were attacked by a swarm of angry hornets. Alistair yelps and presses his hands against his face, tracing the changes with his fingers.

  
“Mr Potter!”, Professor McGonagall yells, and the triumphant smirk gets wiped from James’ face in an instant. Sirius turns around in slow-motion and grimaces at the Gryffindor Headteacher. The chattering has stopped, and most of the other students are glancing from James to Alistair and back, only the older ones don't seem to be interested in the display, just throw a look at them and continue walking towards the Great Hall.

  
“Move along, everybody”, Professor McGonagall orders, grabs James and Sirius by their robes and drags them down the stairs. Alistair is whimpering next to Crispin, who theoretically knows the countercurse, but he doesn't want to risk making it any worse.

  
“Thirty points from Gryffindor and detention, Mr Potter, eight o'clock tonight at my office. For you as well, Mr Black.”

  
“I didn’t do anything!”, Sirius instantly complains, “That’s not fair!”

  
“Another ten more points from Gryffindor for you, Mr Black." Sirius' mouth falls shut, and Professor McGonagall shoves both of them into the general direction of the Great Hall before turning towards Crispin and Alistair.

  
“Redactum Skullus”, she says with a short wave of her wand, and Alistair’s head swiftly returns to his normal state.

  
“Thank you”, Alistair says quietly while probing his face.

  
“Everything alright, Mr Wilbert?”, she asks with a concerned expression.

  
“Yes, Ma’am.”

  
“Do you wish to see Madam Pomfrey?”

  
“No, Ma’am.” She nods slowly, then sends them on their way. As soon as they’re out of hearing distance, Alistair lets out a huff.

  
“Do you remember asking me why you should stay away from Potter? This is exactly why.”

  
“I don’t think I understand what just happened. Why did he hex you?” It doesn’t make any sense, Crispin thinks. Maybe if James had aimed at him, but he hadn’t, his eyes had been focused on nothing but Alistair.

  
“Because he can. And yes, apparently that’s enough reason for him. He doesn’t only do this to Slytherins, but preferably.”

  
“Are you saying he is randomly hexing others because he considers it fun?”

  
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. But don’t tell anybody about this, if Severus hears it the whole drama will begin anew. I just want one halfway peaceful week at this school.” Alistair rubs his face while they make their way towards the Great Hall.

  
“What does Severus have to do with this?”

  
“He and Potter are into the same girl.” Crispin can’t help but laugh. It’s ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous, and it doesn’t make it any better that Crispin realises it’s the first time he honestly has to laugh about something since he got here. Alistair shoots him a quizzical look.

  
“I’m sorry, but as an out stander, this whole thing sounds… absolutely ridiculous.” Alistair grins and shrugs.

  
“I suppose it does, yeah.”

 

 

They don’t say anything during breakfast, but by the time they meet Severus in front of the Potions classroom, the other boy is fuming. After all Hogwarts is a school, where gossip spreads faster than a forest fire during a summer drought, and too many have seen James' little performance this morning.

  
“Why haven’t you told me?”, Severus asks, his index finger digging into Alistair’s chest. Evan, standing next to him, cracks his knuckles.

 

“Because I wanted to have a quiet breakfast and you would find out anyway.”  
“That arrogant cunt”, Severus mutters under his breath, just in time with the arrival of the Gryffindors. Crispin has known about this, of course, but somehow he seems to have forgotten that having Potions with the Gryffindors means having Potions with Potter and his friends. Or at least with him and Sirius, as Peter and Remus are nowhere to be seen. In fact, Potions is not the only class they share, they already met first thing Monday morning at Transfiguration, and Crispin saw Remus yesterday afternoon at Magical Theory, but none of the boys have spoken a single word with him. Not that the situation asked for it, but it's still fascinating to see how much effort Sirius puts into actively avoiding his eyes just to stare at him whenever he thinks Crispin doesn't notice.

  
Among the Gryffindors is also the girl both James and Severus are chasing, and now that Crispin knows he slightly turns his head so he can take a good look at her. As usual, Lily Evans is surrounded by her group of girlfriends, and she is probably deemed beautiful, but Crispin isn’t interested enough in girls to judge this. It is however obvious that she is popular, simply by looking at the way all of her friends are angled towards her, making her the centre of attention. Behind her stands James, gaping at her back, next to him Sirius, who is looking directly at Crispin with his arms crossed in front of his chest, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. When he notices he has Crispin’s attention he flinches slightly and lowers his gaze. Crispin rolls his eyes and turns back around, where Severus, Evan and Alistair are still quietly discussing the previous events and how they want to pay Potter back. Before they can come to a conclusion, however, the classroom door opens and Professor Slughorn appears, urging them to enter. Crispin has met the Head of Slytherin briefly, and he strangely reminds him of a niffler who has stuffed his pockets a little too much, glistening eyes always darting around, searching for more gold, or, in Slughorn's case, searching for the newest additions to his so called Slug Club. According to Severus a hand chosen selection of his favourite students are invited to somewhat regular gatherings and Crispin wonders what he would have to do to receive an invitation. Apparently the Club is for talented and well connected students and therefore offers lots of possibilities for the ambitious. If the members of the Slug Club are truly the most important people at Hogwarts, Crispin ought to try and become part of it as well.

  
Sirius and James choose a table in the back row, and Alistair quickly steers Crispin to the front, as far away from them as possible. Crispin doesn't care about his seat, and he pulls his copy of Advanced Potion-Making out of his bag, along with his potion kit, while Slughorn waddles through the room, the buttons of his waistcoat straining dangerously with his heavy breaths.

  
“Well then!", he says, and the room immediately turns quiet, "Welcome back everybody - or should I say, welcome back to those who passed their O.W.L. with a sufficient grade? And, of course, welcome to you, Mr Bonham, it is always nice to see a new face.” Professor Slughorn smiles at Crispin before continuing with his speech, about how the last two years will be much more demanding than anything they have encountered before. It's the same speech with every teacher, and Crispin only listens halfheartedly.

  
“We shall begin with a simple revision”, he ends eventually, “of the Draught of Peace, as I recall some of you still having trouble with it last year, and it’s -“ Loud giggling from the last row interrupts him, and his eyes stop darting from student to student, staring at something in the back like a man who has already accepted his defeat. Crispin turns his head just to see Lily Evans roll her eyes, and a huge cloud of dust engulfing the desk behind her. Professor Slughorn waves his wand and the cloud disappears, revealing a grinning James and a dumbfounded Sirius whose entire head is covered in white powder.

  
“Ah, Mr Potter and Mr Black, welcome back. I wish I could say I missed the two of you.” Some of the others laugh at his words, others, as Lily, shake their heads. Severus, sitting two tables to Crispin’s right, scoffs. “Why don’t we break you up before somebody gets hurt? Mr Potter, would you kindly switch places with…” Slughorn's eyes scan the classroom in front of him and when they reach Crispin, he already knows what the man is about to say. “Mr Bonham.” Alistair looks at him pleadingly, silently begging him to send him instead so he won’t have to work with James, but Crispin pretends not so see him and grabs his bag instead. He doesn’t want to work with James either and in this case, as in most cases if he is being completely honest, his loyalty lies with himself. He takes his book and his potion kit and moves to the back, ignoring James’ glare as they walk past each other. When he sits down at his new place, Sirius is still busy shaking the powder out of his hair, coating the tabletop in a layer of white dust.

  
“There is a spell for that”, Crispin says after watching him for a few seconds.

  
“Scourgify”, Sirius mutters with his wand pointed towards his own head and most of the powder disappears, only a few particles still sticking to his hair. He doesn’t look at Crispin and pointedly moves to the edge of the table, carefully aligning his supplies so they don’t touch Crispin’s half.

  
“As I was saying, we will revise the Draught of Peace. Instructions are on the board.” Professor Slughorn waves his wand and a list of steps appears behind him. Crispin moves quickly to get everything he needs; moonstone, syrup of hellebore, unicorn horn and porcupine quills. The potion is difficult to make, the instructions are very specific, and Crispin doesn’t want to fail during his first class. He prepares each ingredient carefully and sets them in the correct order. Next to him, Sirius doesn’t seem to be interested in making the potion. He halfheartedly crushes his unicorn horn into powder and is still busy pestling it when Crispin starts stirring for the first time.  
“Need help?”, Crispin asks quietly, not because he is actually offering but because he wants to know what exactly Sirius’ problem with him is. Obviously he is mad at him, but Crispin isn’t sure if it’s because he is a Slytherin or because he hasn’t told him about it on the train; or something else entirely.

  
“I don’t need your help”, Sirius whispers back and promptly adds the wrong ingredient, causing his potion to harden into a cement-like block.

  
“Tergeo”, he says and glares at his once more empty cauldron. Crispin adds some more powdered moonstone until the potion turns purple then proceeds stirring, deciding to ignore the sulking boy next to him. He’ll have more chances to get to the root of the problem, and by now Professor Slughorn has started inspecting his students’ progress. When he appears in front of Crispin he is just shaking the powdered porcupine quills, and Slughorn glances curiously into Crispin’s cauldron. The potion is still purple, and Professor Slughorn gives an appreciative nod. When he turns his head towards Sirius, however, he heaves a sigh.

  
“Mr Black, you are letting it simmer for too long.”

  
Between steps Crispin finds himself observing Sirius. It's interesting to see how his jaw works when he concentrates on his task, teeth clenching and relaxing, rolling his bottom lip between them whenever he pauses to think. Occasionally their eyes meet, but it's always Sirius who averts his gaze first.

  
At the end of the lesson, Crispin’s potion has almost the correct colour and the Head of Slytherin appears to be pleased. Only Lily and Severus managed to brew a perfect potion, which doesn’t seem to come as a surprise to the others. Crispin puts his things back into his bag while Slughorn still wanders through the aisle, judging each potion, occasionally even sprinkling some advice.

  
“Here”, Crispin says as he finds Sirius’ measuring glass that somehow ended up on his side, and pushes it over the table. Sirius grabs it wordlessly and shoves it into his kit, the glass clinking dangerously loud. When Slughorn announces the end of today's lesson, Sirius immediately turns to leave but Crispin reaches out and catches his robe by the sleeve.

  
“What?”, Sirius snarls at him.

  
“Do you remember what you said about the four houses? Well, the only -“, Crispin pauses to emphasise the quote, “arsehole I can see is you.” With that, he walks past Sirius towards his fellow Slytherins, a little smile forcing its way on his lips. Then the part of his brain responsible for analysing his thoughts and emotions catches up with him and he quickly wipes the smile off his face. He isn’t sure yet what his deal with Sirius is, why he wants to figure out how the boy works, but he can’t deny that he is intrigued by him. Which is absolutely atypical behaviour for Crispin and he can't help but feel a little concerned.

  
“Mr Bonham, would you stay for a moment?”, Professor Slughorn asks as Crispin reaches the front, and Crispin nods, almost glad about the interruption. He motions the others to go ahead, then approaches the teacher’s table and looks at him expectingly while the room continues to empty.

  
“Well, well. I see you already made some friends.” It’s not the word Crispin would use, but he forces a smile on his face nonetheless.

  
“Yes, Sir.”

  
“Very nice, very nice indeed. Your mother is Catherine Allens, yes?” Crispin nods. “Ah, a very talented witch. Saved many lives with her Scrofungulus potion. I must say I am rather pleased to hear she decided to work with the healers at St. Mungo’s now, it is reassuring to know she will be there in case of, well, an emergency.” He laughs, and Crispin decides to join him. “But I shall not keep you any longer. Give my regards to her, please.”

  
“I will. Thank you, Professor.” Crispin turns around to leave and is almost by the door when he is called back once more.

  
“Oh, Mr Bonham? I will hold a small gathering at eight o’clock the Saturday after next. You might have heard about this already, your dear friend Mr Snape usually attends them as well. I would like to invite you, if you are interested. Your dear mother enjoyed them greatly.” Crispin doesn’t feel flattered, he immediately knows his mother is the only reason he received an invitation, but it doesn’t really matter anyway; important is that he now has a way in.

  
“I would love to attend”, Crispin says, “Thank you, Professor.”

 

 

Crispin has a free period next, and as he returns to the Slytherin common room he tries to remember if his mother ever mentioned being part of the Slug Club. She rarely speaks about her time at school, although that’s probably due to the fact that she’s so busy working they barely find time to talk at all.

  
Back at the common room he retreats to an empty table in a corner and starts with the last bit of his Transfiguration homework, a three foot long essay about human transfiguration spells. He still has until Friday to finish it but he prefers to do his work as quickly as possible. Procrastinating has never helped anybody with achieving their goals. He is halfway through describing the effects of Crinus Moto when someone pulls the parchment away from him and Evan leans his body against the table.

  
“Your first free period and you’re already doing homework?”

  
“This way I won’t have to do it in the evening”, Crispin explains and takes his essay back out of Evan’s hands.

  
“Whatever. I’m here about Potter... we decided it’s time he learns that if he fucks with us, we fuck with his friends. Sev thinks it’s best to get Lupin.”

  
“Lupin? Why him? He wasn’t even there.”

  
“Exactly. This will show him that nobody’s save if you mess with the wrong people. Anyway, I know the two of you have Magical Theory together tomorrow afternoon and I want you to detain him afterwards until the corridor is empty.”

  
“No.” Crispin firmly shakes his head. He isn’t a follower and he definitely doesn’t want to get involved in this ridiculous rivalry. He might not care about the other boy, but there is no possible outcome that would benefit him. If he joins them now, he will have to stick with them for the next two years and while he doesn’t want to antagonise them, he definitely doesn’t want to choose their side in this petty war.

  
“No?”, Evan asks, dumbfounded. “Fuck, why? You just let them fuck with us? You’re a Slytherin now, it comes with responsibilities.”

  
“I am certain it is possible to be a Slytherin without breaking multiple rules during the first week.” Evan scoffs and leans down until his face hovers over Crispin's.

  
“Listen to me, you little shit, you’re going to do as I say or I’ll make your time here more than miserable. You think just because Mummy and Daddy went to Hogwarts you’re suddenly pure-blood? Fuck that.”

  
The problem is, Crispin doesn’t respond well to threats. He had truly intended to stay out of everything, to let them all fight their little wars without picking sides, but if this is the game Evan wants to play, well, Crispin will join him, but not by anybody’s rules but his own.

  
“O…okay”, he mutters and averts his gaze, feigning submission.

  
“Good boy”, Evan sneers and pats Crispin's head. “When you’re done with your homework, we’re about to play some Exploding Snap. Feel free to join us.” Suddenly he smiles fondly, and his patting turns into ruffling. Crispin puts a bright red exclamation mark next to Evan's name on his mental file. This guy is truly dangerous. After this incident, Crispin quickly gives up on writing his essay. He is far too busy considering his options, making it impossible to focus on homework. Following Evan's order is out of the question but he isn’t sure if he actually wants to go so far and warn Remus about the planned attack. Doing nothing is a possibility as well, but also the least beneficial. It's not until he sits down at dinner that he makes a decision, although he can’t help but feel a little annoyed by what he is going to do.

  
At their table, Alistair and Severus discuss today’s Potion’s class, Wilkes quietly teaches two first years a lesson about behaviour in the common room, Evan feeds his girlfriend some pie, and Donovan desperately tries to communicate with a Ravenclaw using sweeping hand gestures. It’s a strangely homely atmosphere, and Crispin could actually enjoy it if the memory of Evan’s threat wouldn’t still linger in his mind. Still, he decides to push his thoughts aside for the time being. This is school, he thinks as he listens to Alistair mocking Donovan about his non-verbal flirting attempts. While Crispin considers himself to be more of a loner, he knows how valuable it is to have a stable social environment. And while nothing of the things happening here will matter after graduation, it’s the perfect place to learn everything he needs to know for the life after school.

  
“Evan, you’re gross”, a seventh year called Avery says as he sits down next to Crispin, motioning a younger girl to move closer to her friends. Tilda chuckles while she swallows another piece of pie, and she leans against her boyfriend’s shoulder.

  
“Jealous?”, Evan asks and places a berry on Tilda’s tongue, eyes on Avery. The older boy shakes his head, grinning.

  
“On you? Never. No offence, Tilda.”

  
“None taken. How’s Bellatrix?”

  
“Still engaged to Rodolphus, still crazy in bed”, Avery says with a wink. Crispin glances at them and Evan notices, and he gives him a smile, just as if they hadn’t butted heads earlier.

  
“You have a girlfriend at Ilvermorny?”, Evan asks.

  
“No”, Crispin answers truthfully. No girl has ever interested him in that way, although he has considered trying a relationship for the experience’s sake.

  
“Girlfriends are overrated anyway”, Avery says, speaking to Crispin directly for the first time after their initial introduction, “Just imagine being poor Rodolphus.” Evan barks out a laughter.

  
“That hardly counts, Bellatrix is a total nut-case, nobody wants to be her boyfriend.”

  
“Fair enough. But I stand by my opinion, girlfriends are totally overrated. We have higher goals nowadays, haven’t we?”

  
“You bet.”

  
“I beg you pardon?”, Tilda asks in played outrage. Evan lowers his head to kiss her temple.

  
“Baby, when the Dark Lord rises you and I will rise with him, together.” Across the table, Alistair suddenly starts laughing and Evan throws a berry at his head.

  
“I’m not reciting poems!”

  
“Mate, you totally are”, Avery says with a chuckle, “But we love you anyway.”

 

 

They stay in the Great Hall until dinner time is over, so when they finally get back to the common room, it’s almost time for Crispin to leave again. He sits down on one of the armchairs by the fireplace and pulls out his book while Donovan and Alistair play a round of Wizard’s Chess next to him. After reading half a chapter he excuses himself, explaining to the others he wants to go to the Owlery to send a letter to his parents. Not that anybody questions him, but Crispin still decides to take a detour halfway up to the West Tower before turning around, just in case. Part of him starts doubting his decision to do this while he makes his way back to the first floor, and Crispin has a hard time forcing himself to think about something else. All of this is breaking about half a dozen of his self-imposed rules, the most important being _stay out of unnecessary trouble_.

  
According to his watch he has five more minutes when he finally reaches Professor McGonagall’s office, and he hides behind a corner and waits. Maybe, if he’s lucky and none of the Slytherins find out about this, it will at least make Sirius hate him a little less. Crispin furrows his brow, briefly wondering where that thought was coming from when he hears the sound of steps coming closer. Taking one last deep breath he walks out of his cover and finds himself about ten yards away from Sirius and James, who both stop dead and immediately pull their wands, although Crispin can’t help but notice that Sirius acts far more hesitantly than his friend. Crispin slowly raises both hands to show he isn’t armed.

  
“What are you doing here?”, James asks, his knuckles white around his wand.

  
“Evan Rosier is planning an attack on Remus tomorrow after Magical Theory”, Crispin explains as calmly as possible, “He won’t be alone, so I suggest you happen to be there as well.” Neither of the two other boys lowers his wand, in contrary, they seem even more suspicious.

  
“Why would you tell us about that?”, Sirius asks with his brows furrowed, the tip of his wand sparkling slightly. Tricky question, but Crispin has anticipated it and knows how he wants to answer.

  
“Nobody gets to tell me what to do.” It sounds far more rebellious than Crispin truly is but that doesn’t make it a lie. He won’t let others order him around without earning the right to do so or having unbeatable arguments.

  
“Why should we believe you?”, James asks, not convinced by Crispin’s non-answer.

  
“Believe me, don’t believe me, I don’t care. Enjoy your detention.” Not interested in talking to them any longer he turns around and leaves, carefully listening to the Gryffindors’ movements. He halfway expects to be hexed on his way to the stairs but nothing happens, and for a fleeting moment he finds himself feeling a little disappointed.

 

 

By the time Crispin enters the Magical Theory classroom the day after, he has had more than enough of Evan’s more or less subtle threats. He sits down as Professor Rafferty starts the lesson and tries his best to focus on her words during the next almost two hours. Remus continuously glances at him from the first row, making it fairly obvious that his friends informed him about everything, which at least makes things a little less complicated. When the lesson is finally over, Crispin directly approaches Remus before the boy even has a chance to pack his bag.

  
“I’m supposed to delay you until everybody else is gone”, he says unceremoniously. Remus nods and opens his mouth, but before he can speak a familiar voice sounds outside the classroom.

  
“Oh, look Sirius, our dearest Slytherin friends are here as well, what a coincidence!” It’s James. Crispin just hopes he won’t say anything that could get him into trouble with Evan and the others. “Sorry Snivellus, it was just too obvious you would beg your ape of a bodyguard to do something stupid.”

  
“Yeah, and good luck with that. Don’t forget we’re smarter than you”, Sirius’ voice says with a mocking undertone. In the classroom both Crispin and Remus turn around, where the rest of the students are jamming the door. More people speak, their words incomprehensible this time, and Professor Rafferty, alert displaying on her face, weaves her way through the crowd.

  
“Absolutely nothing, Professor”, Crispin can hear Sirius say, as usual being the loudest of them all, “We’re just waiting for our friend.” Slowly but steadily the rest of the students manage to leave the classroom, and after waiting for another minute Crispin deems it save to go now. He nudges Remus, whose grip on the strap of his bag is so tight his knuckles are turning white, and motions towards the door.

  
“Thank you”, Remus says quietly, and Crispin is inclined to shrug it off but he flashes a smile instead.

  
“You’re welcome.” School truly is nothing but a giant playground. He just hopes Evan isn’t smart enough to put one and one together.


	3. Bugger Off, You Daft Cow

Evan doesn’t suspect him of anything, or if he does, he doesn’t show it. For the next two days he is busy insulting James and Sirius in every possible way, contemplating a new plan with Severus. The four Gryffindors stick together the entire time now, Crispin doesn’t see one of them on their own for the entire next week, except during class. But even then the others are waiting outside the door as soon as the lesson ends, however they manage to do that. It drives Evan crazy and he becomes more and more insufferable until Avery snaps and tells him not to concern himself with such petty quarrels and focus on more important matters instead.

  
His first weekend at Hogwarts starts with a bright blue sky and because Crispin has finished all his homework during the week, he decides to spend the day outside. With his bag over his shoulder and his shirt sleeves rolled up he wanders about the school grounds, trying his best to evade all the other students who had a similar idea. He walks along the edge of the Forbidden Forest, then follows a small trail parallel to the lake when he spots a low wall, halfway hidden behind a few trees, forming a barricade between a gravel path and a steep slope leading down to the water. There is nobody to be seen, so he climbs down between the trees and lifts himself up the wall. It’s perfect, just broad enough for him to lie on, and he pulls parchment and a quill out of his bag before shoving it underneath his head to use it as a pillow. The sun is warm on his face, and he just lies there for a few minutes, enjoying the late summer weather before he unrolls the scroll and places it on his belly. With a trained wave of his wand he makes his quill move from his hand to the parchment, quivering slightly as it waits for him to start writing. Half an hour later, Crispin is completely absorbed in his work.

  
_Emerick, however, couldn’t understand a word Pavus was saying. Wizardry? There was no such thing as magic, but he nodded anyway, hiding his true thoughts underneath layers of feigned self-confidence_ , Crispin dictates in his mind, and listens to the scratch of the quill as it writes the words down as quickly as he can think them. It’s liberating to finally write again; nothing is more important to him than this. It’s what he does best and what he wants to do for the rest of his life. Not that he would ever tell anybody about it.

  
He returns to this spot as often as he can for the next two weeks, if only for half an hour between doing homework and dinner. Apart from that, he spends a lot of time with the Slytherins, and he quickly learns that while Evan has the biggest mouth, Avery is the true leader. Everybody, including Evan, listens to him. He is charming and calm and manages to make following the Dark Lord sound like a valid career choice.

  
“Imagine us leading this country instead of Harold Minchum”, Avery tells Crispin one evening as they sit by the fire in the common room, “The core of our community is beginning to rot, and the government doesn’t do anything against it. Our magic defines us, and the thinner our blood runs the weaker we become until, eventually, there will be no magic left. All we want is to save who we are and make us strong again.” Crispin understands what Avery is saying, but he personally feels no particular pride in being a wizard. He simply happens to be one, but he would be okay even if he wasn’t. Still, it’s a motive that makes sense, although Crispin doubts the Dark Lord has the same reasoning for seeking power as Avery has for following him. He has the charms of a politician, and it’s probably the being in charge that appeals to him more than anything else. Others, like Evan, are clearly attracted to the violence with which the Dark Lord’s followers operate, which is displayed every day in the Prophet’s articles if one reads between the lines. It’s either the violence, the need for protection, the promise of glory, or the Dark Lord’s supposed strength, and a lot of young people, and not only Slytherins, seem to find a reason to join him.

  
Occasionally Crispin bumps into Sirius outside of their common periods, and it doesn’t take him long to learn that the other boy is never all by himself. Even when he is not accompanied by at least one of his friends, which is rare enough as he and Potter seem to be joined at the hip, there is always at least one girl following him around. One afternoon Crispin heads to the Owlery to send his stack of already read books back to his parents when he sees Sirius leaning against the wall framing the stairs leading up to the tower, his eyes closed as some Hufflepuff girl peppers kisses all over his neck. For a second Crispin considers turning straight around, his stomach clenching in something he only later identifies as anger, but before he can come to a decision his feet make another step, gravel crunching underneath his soles, and the girl pauses to glance at him.

  
“Oops”, she says with a nervous chuckle and pulls away from Sirius, who immediately opens his eyes.

  
“Don’t mind me”, Crispin says, his jaw unusually tight. He expects Sirius to pull the girl back towards him, but instead the boy straightens up, a blush appearing on his face as he seems to find something rather interesting on the tip of his shoes. Crispin walks past the couple to take care of his business, but he spends the remainder of the day wondering why seeing Sirius kissing someone caused him to have an emotional reaction.

  
Crispin also gets to know Regulus Black, Sirius younger brother, a soft fifth year with such an open admiration for Evan and Avery that Crispin cannot help but pity him for his weakness. On Saturday morning, at the end of his third week at Hogwarts, Evan motions him to join him and Regulus at their table in the common room. Crispin, just returning from breakfast, sits down next to Wilkes and glances at the array of newspaper articles spread out on the table. Some of them are long, some have pictures, some only contain a few lines, but they all seem to be about the same thing: The Dark Lord.

  
“Regulus just showed us his personal collection”, Evan explains and helps the younger boy putting the articles back into a folder, “Maybe you should read them, I know you’re still doubting our seriousness.” If there is one thing he doesn’t think about them, it’s that they’re not serious. “But anyway, Exploding Snap, Crispin. You promised.”

  
He has, after standing them up a couple of times. So instead of going out to write he ends up spending the entire morning playing Exploding Snap with the others, and eventually they are even joined by Tilda, Donovan and Alistair. Regulus is terrible at the game, and Donovan regularly has to heal the burns on his fingers. Crispin, however, excels. His quick reflexes make it rather easy for him and after winning three games in a row, Evan throws his cards across the room, scaring a bunch of young girls when the cards explode right above their heads.

  
“Accio cards”, he grunts, and they fly straight back into his hand. “Playing with you is no fun.”

  
“Baby, you have other qualities”, Tilda says and nuzzles her boyfriend’s neck.

  
“We really don’t have to know that”, Donovan says.

  
“Whatever. I’m done playing. Guys, the dorm will be occupied for the next hour or so.”

  
“Again, we really don’t -“

  
“Bugger off, Donny.” Evan grabs Tilda’s arm and pulls her from her chair straight into his arms.

  
“Seems like Evan successfully ruined the mood”, Wilkes says as soon as the couple is out of hearing distance. “I’ll see you guys at lunch.” He gets up, knocks on the table twice and heads over to a group of seventh years at the other end of the common room.

  
“Al, would you let me take a look at your Transfiguration homework? I’m supposed to meet Patricia at two and I still have two more feet to write”, Donovan says. Alistair sighs, then reaches underneath the table to get his bag.

  
“Hey, Crispin?”, Regulus calls quietly just as Crispin is starting to get up from his chair, and he waves with the folder. It’s truly fascinating to see how different two brothers can be, Crispin thinks. He is an only child, just like both his parents, so he doesn’t have much family he can compare himself to, but according to his experience there is usually some sort of resemblance. Regulus and Sirius Black might look like brothers if you squinted at them carefully, but that’s about it. Regulus is completely and utterly charmless, easy to overlook, with not even the slightest hint of self-confidence. The exact opposite of Sirius, actually. Only yesterday Crispin has caught him with yet another girl of the week, leaning against a shelf in the Alchemy section of the library, his face all slack and handsome, a Ravenclaw staring at him as if she was an art connoisseur seeing her first master piece. This time Sirius hadn’t noticed him, but Crispin was still feeling irrationally annoyed.   
“Don’t leave them lying around, please”, Regulus says, derailing Crispin's train of thoughts, and waves with the folder again.   
"Thank you, but I think I will pass." Regulus nods and drops the articles back on the table.

  
“Regulus”, Crispin starts after a moment, glancing around to see if anybody but Alistair and Donovan are within hearing distance, then he quickly sits down again. “May I ask you something?”

  
“Sure.”

  
“I have been wondering about your brother… how does a Black end up in Gryffindor?” Regulus’ expression clouds and his shoulders hunch visibly as he shrugs.

  
“Dunno. He’s always been that way, you know, never following any rules, always arguing with Mum. Our parents… they tried, but he just…” He shrugs again, but suddenly his posture changes, his entire body jolts as he tenses, “He never valued what they did for him, his origin, his blood. It’s such a privilege to come from a family like ours and he just… throws it all away!” Sadly, nothing of this tells him anything new about Sirius, although it confirms his suspicions about Regulus. Born into a family with pure-blood supremacist views, a boy with a weak mind such as Regulus’ can’t be expected to behave any different than his ancestors. And the Dark Lord's promises are blurring the lines between conservative and radical.

  
“I am sorry to hear that. You must miss your brother from time to time.” Crispin is rarely surprised by someone’s reaction, but in no way has he ever expected Regulus to jump up from his seat, his jaw clenched and his hands curled into fists.

  
“He’s a blood traitor!” The boy is vibrating with anger. “He doesn’t deserve to be a Black, and the Dark Lord will purge -“

  
“Regulus”, Alistair interrupts him, “Calm down, Crispin only means well.” Regulus fires a glare at both of them, grabs his folder and all but dashes out of the common room. Alistair sighs.

  
“He loves his brother”, he explains, “but Avery made it very clear that he can’t be loyal to his brother and the Dark Lord at the same time.”

  
“I see.”

  
“Yeah, maybe it’s best if you didn't try to talk to him about Sirius again.”

  
“I will remember that.” Alistair nods slowly and returns to his homework.

 

 

About fifteen minutes later Crispin is on his back, sun once more warming his face, the quill racing over the parchment. Emerick, his protagonist, is finally embarking on his journey across the Seven Oceans. With the help of the wise wizard Pavel the young No-Maj wants to save his best friend from a group of rebels, not knowing that his friend had turned to the Dark Arts himself. He is just starting with a new scroll when he hears someone coming down the gravel path. Whoever it is has a springy walk, confident and fast. Crispin doesn’t open his eyes, but pauses his writing until the person passes. The steps come closer until they’re exactly to Crispin’s right, then they stop abruptly. Crispin knows there are about three yard of grass between him and the stranger, enough to hide the words on the parchment from curious glances. He wonders who it is but decides to eliminate the possibilities instead of looking. It has to be someone who knows him, otherwise they wouldn’t have stopped. Which, interestingly, does only leave one person when he takes everything into consideration.

  
“What do you want, Sirius?”, he asks when the stranger doesn’t move or speak for an entire minute, daring a shot in the dark. The stranger gasps and Crispin can’t keep himself from smiling. So it is Sirius. And he is on his own for once, which itself is already surprising, not to speak of the fact that although they share two classes together, one in which they still have to sit next to each other, they haven't spoken more than a handful of words in the past two weeks. And now Sirius is here.

  
“How did you know it was me?”, Sirius asks.

  
“Process of elimination”, Crispin says and orders his parchment to roll up. “So, what are you doing here?”

  
“James is at Quidditch training, Pete hangs out with his girlfriend and Remus is doing homework. I’m bored to death.” Sirius groans. “I saw you down here, thought I’d swing by.” He talks quickly and Crispin can hear the gravel crunch as Sirius shuffles his feet. Crispin turns his head and finally opens his eyes. Sirius has his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans and looks at him with his head cocked, the tip of his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. It is at that exact moment, with the soft wind tousling his hair and the sunlight coating his skin, that Crispin realises the reason for his fascination with Sirius. It hits him like a punch to the guts and for a moment he finds himself unable to breathe. He has read about this so many times and yet failed to see it until now: He is attracted to him, simple as that, and it suddenly all makes sense. Crispin draws in a shaky breath and can only hardly suppress a hysterical laughter that tries to force its way up his throat.

  
“Listen, I’m sorry I was an such an arse”, Sirius says awkwardly with his hand scratching the back of his head and his eyes locked on the wall beneath Crispin, and this time Crispin can’t stop the laughter before it bursts out of his mouth. This is ridiculous, he thinks, everything about this school is ridiculous. James Potter and his little gang, their feud with the Slytherins, the Slytherins’ weird obsession with a guy who walks around calling himself the Dark Lord, his own sudden attraction to a boy he doesn’t even know and, who is, and Crispin can’t believe it took him so long to notice it, obviously attracted to him as well.

  
Sirius squints at him with his brows furrowed and Crispin wants to tell him that he isn’t laughing at what he has said, but he can’t. The awkwardness around him, the hidden stares, the atypical muteness, everything about Sirius’ behaviour makes sense now, and it’s strangely hilarious to Crispin.

  
“I’m sorry”, he says eventually, tears in his eyes, “Sorry, sorry.” Crispin takes a few deep breaths, briefly worrying about his sanity.

  
“I had no idea you even knew how to laugh.” A grin appears on Sirius’ face as he closes the distance between them and jumps on the wall, sitting down right next to Crispin’s head, the tips of his fingers almost touching him. “Are you going to tell me what’s so funny?” For a moment Crispin considers telling him the whole truth, but fortunately the rational part of his mind intervenes, warning him to think about this first, evaluate every possibility before making a move.

  
“Hogwarts”, he says instead, as if that would explain everything. Apparently it explains enough for Sirius, because he chuckles softly and nods, and an easy silence falls between them, filled with nothing but the chirping of birds and the soft rustling of leaves. Crispin is grateful for the short break, his thoughts and emotions are all haywire, something he definitely isn’t used to.

  
“Crispin, you were right when you called me out on my behaviour”, Sirius says after a few minutes, steering the conversation back to his apology. The words, however, don’t sound like him, and Crispin tells him exactly that.

  
“Yeah, you’re right, they’re Remus’ words. But I mean them! Being a Slytherin doesn’t automatically make you a bad person.”

  
“Let me guess, Remus’ words again?” Sirius stays quiet for a few seconds, then he snorts and nods. “Remus sounds like a smart and reasonable person.”

  
“Oh, he totally is. Thank you, by the way, for warning us about Snivellus.”

  
“Snivellus?”

  
“Snape”, Sirius explains, “James came up with that during our second year. He isn’t a friend of yours, is he? Because if he is, I’ll have to take my apology back.”

  
“I am not interested in making friends with the people in my house.” Nor with the people in other houses, but saying that would sound too rude.

  
“Good for you. Most are…”, Sirius waves his hands through the air, seemingly not able to say what they are, but Crispin understands him nonetheless.

  
“I have noticed”, he agrees, drawing another snort out of the other boy.

  
“Seriously, do you always talk like that?”

  
“Like what?”, Crispin asks despite knowing the answer already. He wants Sirius to say it.

  
“My name is Crispin Bonham and I talk like a wise wizard born in the late eighteen-hundreds”, Sirius says, imitating Crispin’s flat voice and his odd syllable pronunciation. Crispin chuckles. He has to admit, it does sound quite like him.

  
“Yes, I do. Always have, in case you were wondering.”

  
“Would you please say… uh… _Bugger off, you daft cow_?”

  
“No.” Sirius turns around, drawing his legs up the wall until Crispin’s head is virtually in Sirius’ lap. They’re still not touching but it’s an incredibly intimate position nonetheless. Crispin isn’t sure if he is comfortable with it, but Sirius doesn’t even seem to notice. He looks down at Crispin, his head casting a shadow on his face, and he is so close that Crispin could bite the tips of his hair if he would only lift his own head a little. It’s odd, he thinks as he breathes in, Sirius’ smell reminds him faintly of dog.

  
“Come on, please. Say it.”

  
“No.” Sirius rolls his eyes.

  
“You’re no fun.”

  
“Well, apparently still better than being bored to death.” Sirius grimaces at him, his face coming even closer as he bends down to prop his elbows on his legs, chin resting in his palms.

  
“You’re new, which means you’re still somewhat exciting.” He gives Crispin a smile that seems a little off, and this time Crispin can easily sense his nervousness. It’s adorable, he thinks, and just as the thought crosses his mind he feels surprised by it. Adorable isn’t an adjective he usually uses, at least not outside of his writings, but it is fitting, and he wonders if being attracted to someone can actually alter someone’s personality. If yes, he doesn’t want to be attracted to anybody ever, because the last thing he needs is to be turned into a fool. He has seen enough of that both at Ilvermorny and here.

  
“What were you writing when I came here?”, Sirius asks when Crispin doesn’t say anything, and Crispin forces his eyes to move from where they were staring holes into Sirius’ forehead to look at him properly. He doesn’t know how to answer. His first instinct is to shrug it off as nothing but he finds himself not wanting to do that. Apparently his contemplations are taking too long, because Sirius suddenly moves his hand and tries to snatch the scroll of parchment from Crispin’s belly, but even if his mind is currently not working as usual, his reflexes still do, and he manages to catch Sirius’ arm halfway. Through the movement Sirius’ fingers end up sprawled over Crispin’s chest. The touch knocks him completely out of his stride and he blinks, his heart suddenly beating hard against Sirius’ hand.

  
“I’m writing a novel”, he hears himself say, immediately wondering what on earth is going on with him, and he releases Sirius’ arm as if he just got burned. Sirius, apparently oblivious to the chaos in Crispin’s head, raises his eyebrows and curiously glances at the parchment, his hand sliding over Crispin’s shirt as he pulls back.

  
“A novel? Really? Can I read it?” Crispin has to sit up and get some distance between them, and so he does, catching the scroll with one hand while he moves the other to rub over his face. It’s a little bit better this way.

  
“I thought you didn’t know anything about books”, he says when he notices he has been quiet for too long again.

  
“True, but I do actually know how to read.” Suddenly, the nervous smile is back on his face. “If you need someone to pick it apart and fuss over minor details, I’m pretty good at that.”

  
“Thank you, but it isn’t good enough for that yet.” They fall silent again and Crispin runs through all the questions he still has written underneath Sirius’ name on his mental list, searching for one he can actually ask. Nothing about his family, nothing about Slytherin, nothing about the Dark Lord. Potter comes to mind, but he definitely doesn’t want to talk about him.

  
“If you could live forever, how would you spend eternity?” Crispin doesn’t exactly know where this question is coming from, but at least it’s something personal. Sirius, however, blinks at him before he starts laughing.

  
“You know, usually people asks questions like… do you like Quidditch? What’s your favourite subject? Stuff like that.” Crispin shrugs. He already knows that Sirius doesn’t play Quidditch himself but enjoys watching, because he has talked about that on the train. And he truly doesn’t care about his favourite subject.

  
“But okay, eternity… I suppose my friends aren’t immortal?” Crispin nods and watches as Sirius rubs his chin. “Well, at first I’d probably do a lot of reckless stuff, because hey, I can’t die. But then? I don’t know. I’d probably try to find some way to do good. Become this wise ancient wizard everybody seeks out to get some advice because I’ve lived through countless centuries and therefore know everything.” He seems rather pleased with his answer.

  
“Like Gandalf”, Crispin says, more to himself than Sirius.

  
“Who?”

  
“Gandalf. A wise ancient wizard from Tolkien’s books. He is a No-Maj”, Crispin furrows his brow and immediately corrects himself, “A muggle. So you have probably never heard of him.”

  
“No, I haven’t. There are muggle books about wizards?”

  
“Of course. Although they aren’t even remotely close to the truth.”

  
“You read a lot, right?”

  
“As much as I can.” Which isn’t all that much since he came to Hogwarts. He simply doesn't have the time, with the amount of homework and studying he has to do. And he tries to carve out as many hours as possible for his writing, which, right now, is definitely more important to him than reading.

  
“What’s your favourite?”

  
“That is impossible to answer”, Crispin says truthfully. He has a list of favourites and even this list is split into multiple categories. Books with incredible characters, books that touched him, books that were amazingly well written, books he could read again and again. But then, Crispin has an idea.

  
“One of the last books that ended up among my favourites is Giovanni’s Room. It is quite… unsettling.” Unsettling is not the right word, but Crispin lacks a better one. It’s an anatomy of shame, with all its facets and consequences, exploring a man’s deeply rooted troubles with his own sexuality. It might not be the most positive novel on Crispin’s never ending list of favourites, but it should be quite a broad hint. And, of course, it’s a great book as well.

  
“What’s it about?”, Sirius asks.

  
“You know, you should just read it. I have it in my trunk.”

  
“O…okay. But only if you let me read yours as well.”

  
“When I have written a few more chapters”, Crispin says, having absolutely no idea why he agrees to this. What happened to his decision not to let anybody see it, at least not until it was finished?

  
“Deal. Well, Crispin, nice talking to you, but I have to go pick up James now. You really aren’t all that bad, you know, for a Slytherin.” Sirius smirks as he slides off the wall. Crispin only shakes his head and watches Sirius beginning to walk away slowly, obviously waiting for him to say something.

  
“ _Bugger off, you daft cow_ ”, Crispin says and while it feels wrong to roll his tongue around the words, it’s definitely worth it when Sirius turns back around, his entire face shining with glee. Once more Crispin’s heart skips a beat or two and he can’t help but mirror Sirius’ expression, warmth suddenly spreading over his cheeks.

  
“I… I gotta go”, Sirius mumbles after an awkward moment of staring at each other, and he nearly trips over his own feet as the ground below him changes from grass to gravel. Crispin looks after him as he leaves, and he is still staring at the path minutes after Sirius disappeared around the corner, until his mind finally catches up with him and he wipes the foolish smile off his face. This isn’t good. In fact, this is rather terrible.


	4. Walking Around Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating last week, was working on set and spent all my free time sleeping. To make up for it I'll upload another chapter tomorrow.

By the time Crispin returns to the common room he can barely think straight. He manages to sneak into his dorm without running into any of his classmates, and he kicks off his shoes, collapses on the bed and draws the curtains. It’s only afternoon, far too early to sleep, but as he presses the pillow on his face it’s becoming harder and harder to resist. It would be nice, if only to escape the racing thoughts in his mind. Of course he knows what it means to be attracted to someone but until now it had only been theoretical. He has kissed someone before, twice actually, last year at Ilvermorny. First a girl, then a boy, only to confirm his suspicions about his personal preferences. He is also capable of noticing when someone is generally attractive or simply aesthetically pleasing, but neither has anything to do with this. This is about feelings, and right now, as he is panting into his pillow, he has no idea what to do. Usually he approaches every situation with logic, assesses his emotions and desires and weighs them against his options to find the best solution. Get a grip, he tells himself, and rolls on his back with his eyes still closed.

  
It’s simple, or at least it should be, as it all comes down to only two different options: Either he chooses to pursue or get over it. And he can consider himself lucky, at least he knows that his feelings are reciprocated, or knows with almost absolute certainty. Which means all he has to do is to figure out what he wants, and what is most beneficial to him; two things that usually are supposed to be one and the same. But while what he wants is surprisingly clear - they way it had felt to have Sirius touch him he couldn’t help but want more of that, more of Sirius, much to his own surprise - figuring out what would be beneficial is much harder. Rationally it doesn’t make any sense to take this any further but the truth is that he wants to, he wants him, wants to do all those things he has always frowned upon when he read about them in his books. He has to think about it, every tiny detail, and figure out what to do.

  
Apparently thinking is a rather exhausting task, because he wakes up when someone bolts into the room, and for a moment he has no idea what is going on around him. His curtains are open and he is fully dressed, even his shoes are still on his feet, and Severus is staring at him suspiciously.

  
“Are you feeling ill?”, he asks and Crispin slowly shakes his head. Drowsy and a little confused, but not ill. “Good. The Slug Club meeting starts in half an hour.” He has totally forgotten about the Slug Club, Crispin realises and groans. He rubs his face.

  
“Do we have to wear robes?”, he asks.

  
“No.” Severus looks him over. “But you might consider changing anyway.” Crispin looks down at himself and has to agree, his shirt is rumpled and there are tiny smudges of ink all over his thighs. He heaves himself out of bed and goes through his trunk in search for some fresh clothes. The house-elves haven’t returned his laundry yet, leaving him with an unsatisfyingly small selection. It’s important to make a decent impression tonight. With the last of his good jumpers in his hands he disappears in the adjacent bathroom. It’s a plain green one, a little too much Slytherin for Crispin’s taste, but it fits him well and may even appeal to Professor Slughorn.   
After he has changed he runs a hand through the chaos on his head. Usually preferring his natural waves he now resorts to slicking it all back and he is once more fascinated by how this small change immediately gives him a far more strict and arrogant vibe. It makes him look like his father, Crispin thinks as he fixes a few stray strands, and can’t help but wonder what Sirius would think of him now, looking like a posh Slytherin poster boy. His heart clenches as he pictures the other with his worn out Rusty Cauldrons t-shirt he always seems to wear and he has to push it aside forcefully. This isn’t the time to get caught up in daydreams.

  
When he returns from the bathroom Severus is still waiting for him and they leave the dorm together. In the common room, crowded as usual on a Saturday evening, they meet Regulus, who joins them on their way and Crispin can’t help but wonder how he became part of the Slug Club as well. Regulus doesn’t strike him as exceptionally ambitious or talented but then again, he doesn’t know him very well. Of course it’s also a possibility that his family name is enough to receive an invitation and after briefly thinking about it, Crispin deems this most likely.

  
It’s not far from the common room to Slughorn’s office, just through the hole in the wall to the other end of the dungeons. When they arrive Lily Evans is already standing in front of the door, talking to a Ravenclaw girl Crispin doesn’t know, and when she notices them her features visibly harden and she turns around, showing them her back. Severus tenses and he looks as if he has just bitten into a rotten pie. They must have been close at some point, Crispin thinks, immediately curious about what happened between them. He makes a mental note to try and ask Alistair about it when another group of three students approaches them from the other end of the hallway, two boys and one girl, the latter a Hufflepuff from Crispin’s Defence Against the Dark Arts class.

  
Dead on eight o’clock the door opens and Slughorn greets them with a warm smile, inviting them in. The dinner itself turns out to be disappointingly unspectacular. Crispin gets introduced to everyone, then there’s great food and fine wine, and Professor Slughorn interrogates him about his ambitions. When Crispin tells him he aspires to follow his father’s footsteps, which, technically, isn’t even a lie, Slughorn visibly loses interest. Apparently he has never been a fan of Augustus Bonham. Crispin doubts he will receive another invitation but finds himself not minding the slightest. Listening to Slughorn’s honeyed praise of the Black family and the way he keeps mentioning the oh-so-perfect potions Lily continuously presents in his class becomes tedious rather quickly, and Crispin realises the only person truly benefiting from these gatherings is Slughorn himself.

  
But he does get to talk to Lily and her friend, a Ravenclaw named Anesha, as Slughorn seats him between the two, and it’s interesting to get to know the girl both Severus and James are chasing.

  
“My parents and sister are muggles, so I can’t really say where my talent for potions is coming from”, Lily tells him while two house-elves are serving Bakewell tart for dessert. “But you’re not bad either, I’ve seen your Shrinking Solution.”

  
“My mother invents potions against diseases.”

  
“Oh, is she working at St. Mungo’s?”, Anesha asks, and Crispin nods. “My Dad does as well. Wait, are you by any chance related to Mungo Bonham, the founder?”

  
“I doubt it. My parents are both muggle-born.”

  
“Doesn’t have to mean anything”, Lily says, “If your ancestors married muggles or simply had a squib they could have forgotten about their magical background.” It is a possibility, but Crispin considers it highly unlikely.

  
“Come on, wouldn’t that be cool?”, Anesha asks and nudges his arm, “It would explain your Mum’s talent!”

  
“No, it wouldn’t. My mother is not a Bonham.”

  
“Oh, right… whatever, I think it’d be a cool story. Might even help with you the girls.” Anesha winks at him, but it takes Crispin until he notices Lily’s barely stifled giggling to realise she is flirting with him. He quickly puts a smile on his face and nods. Not that he is interested in her in any way, but it can’t hurt to play along for a little while.

  
“I suppose.”

  
“Not that you aren’t interesting without it, I mean, you’re the new kid, everybody’s talking about you anyway.” Crispin perks up his ears. It doesn’t exactly feel like people pay much attention to him so this actually comes as surprise.

  
“Are they?”

  
“Of course! Usually the only new students are eleven years old, so not really that interesting. And we don’t really learn much about other wizarding schools here, so it’s all really mysterious.” And then she starts asking questions about Ilvermorny, and Crispin spends the remainder of their dinner answering them, albeit scarcely.

  
When they have finished their dessert Anesha excuses herself from the table, and Crispin uses the moment to finally talk to Lily alone.

  
“Is she flirting with me?”, he asks, already knowing how he wants to steer the conversation. Lily laughs.

  
“Yeah, she is, or at least she’s trying to. You’re not interested, are you?” He shakes his head. “Ah, she is going to be disappointed. She’s been ogling you since you passed us on the train.” Crispin can’t recall seeing the two of them in the Hogwarts Express, but he hasn’t known them back then and the train had been crowded, so it’s no surprise. “And I probably shouldn’t have said that. It’s the wine, I’m sorry.” Crispin smiles, honestly this time. He can feel it too, his cheeks are flushed by now and the wine has made him a little light-headed. He doesn’t usually drink.

  
“What about you? Do you have a boyfriend?”, he asks.

  
“Me? No. Decent boys are scarce goods at Hogwarts.” She sighs and stares right through Crispin, definitely thinking about a specific someone. He wonders if it’s Potter, but knows it’s neither the time nor the place to ask.

  
“So you’re not part of Sirius Black’s weekly rotation?”, he asks instead, careful to make it sound like a joke.

  
“Merlin’s beard, no. Never.” She violently shakes her head. Crispin notices Severus observing them while talking to Regulus at the other end of the table. There’s no way he can overhear them, not with Slughorn interrogating the Hufflepuff between them, but Crispin still shuffles a little closer to her before asking his next question.

  
“Why not?”

  
“Are you trying to set me up with Sirius Black?”

  
“No. I’m just trying to understand why he has so many girls following him around.” She snorts into her cup of wine.

  
“Believe me, so do I. He’s just…” Before she can say what Sirius is, Slughorn interrupts her with a story about a former student who is now a professional Quidditch player, and by the time he has finished Anesha has returned and their moment is over.

  
“Blimey, it is almost eleven!”, Slughorn announces after yet another of his stories, and he clasps his hands together, “Time always flies when you’re enjoying yourself… well then, we should probably end this, I wouldn’t want any of you to get into trouble.”

  
They quickly finish their wine and raise from their chairs, and Crispin feels definitely tipsy by now. For a moment he has to steady himself on the backrest while he says goodbye to Lily and Anesha, then they all leave the office, the Slytherins immediately turning left to go deeper into the dungeons, the others heading towards the stairs.

  
However they only manage a few steps when a loud bang sounds, echoing through the dungeons, and Crispin suddenly finds himself covered in a horribly smelling liquid, and it’s so bad he can’t stop himself from gagging, causing the liquid to drop from his lips into his mouth, making it all even worse. He’s also blind, a thick layer covering his eyeballs he can’t manage to blink away, and although he can hear Severus saying something he can’t understand a word, the noise muffled and distorted. Adrenaline rushes through Crispin’s body but he forces himself to stay calm and tries to wipe the viscous liquid off his face. It doesn’t work, he only ends up smearing it around. With shaking hands he reaches for his wand and points the tip towards his own face, muttering a cleaning spell. Nothing happens. He tries again, and again, and a bright spark appears right in front of his eyes and he can finally see again. Slughorn is standing right in front of him, his own wand drawn. The spark appears again and the liquid pours out of Crispin’s ears.

  
“Thank you”, Crispin mutters, aware that he is sounding utterly confused. He has absolutely no idea what just happened. And the foul odour and taste are still stuck in his nose and mouth, causing his head to spin. Behind Slughorn Severus is busy cleaning himself off the liquid, and Regulus examines his shirt, now stained in a deep blue colour.

  
“Are you alright, Mr Bonham?”, Professor Slughorn asks, looking up at Crispin with a slightly spooked expression.

  
“What was that?”, Crispin asks, blinking rapidly to get rid of the blue tint that has laid itself over the world, but to no success.

  
“Altered dyeing jelly potion”, Severus answers before Slughorn can even open his mouth.

  
“Mr Snape, you wouldn’t happen to know who could be responsible for this?”

  
“No”, Severus says but the look he gives Crispin tells him everything he needs to know. Potter. Of course, who else could it be?

  
“Well, if neither of you are hurt I would suggest you head back to the common room. This will be reported to the headmaster and I am positive the culprit will be found…” Slughorn is babbling while he examines the corridor walls, his wand illuminating about a dozen blue spots.

  
“There is no need, Sir, nobody was hurt”, Severus says, “And I doubt you will find the ones responsible, it would only be a waste of time and energy.” Severus is trying to appeal to Slughorn’s desire to stay out of everything that would imply trouble, but the Professor shakes his head.

  
“No, no, Mr Snape, Professor Dumbledore has to know about this. Now go the bed, before I get into trouble for keeping you up.” Showering doesn’t help, Crispin’s hands and face remain blue no matter how much he scrubs. He squints at himself in the distorted reflection in the shower head, and it seems like even the white of his eyes is slightly tinted, surrounding the dark brown of his irises. At least using exorbitant amounts of soap has helped with the smell, although he doubts he will now reek of anything but cinnamon and vanilla for at least half a week.

  
“Potter will pay for this”, Severus gnarls when Crispin returns to the dorm, his wand pointed towards his own skin. He tries a variety of spells, but neither works.

  
“Maybe we should ask Madam Pomfrey.”

  
“No.”

  
“Better than walking around blue.”

  
“Would you two shut the fuck up? Nobody gives a shit if you’re blue or pink or have Potter up your bloody arse!”, Evan shouts from behind his curtains. Severus reacts with a few muttered insults before he disappears into the bathroom and Crispin quietly climbs into his own bed.

  
If this was James Potter’s doing, and he is certain it was, then it is likely that Sirius was involved as well. And if he was involved, did he know Crispin would be there? And if yes, was he willing to hit him as well just to get back at Severus or did he consider it nothing but a playful prank? It is a good prank, Crispin has to admit that, but he would still prefer not to be blue. Did Sirius already know about this when they talked earlier? Probably.

  
He agonises over it for another while, despite being fully aware of how useless it is, but he can't seem to stop his mind, not with the alcohol still affecting him. At one point, his thoughts wander back to the morning, to Sirius almost touching him, and to the big question as to what he wants to do now.

  
Crispin falls asleep at one point, and he wakes up in the morning all hot and sticky, the reminders of Sirius’ flushed face still lingering in front of his mental eye. He pulls the sheets aside and groans quietly when the cool air hits his heated body. Teenage hormones are truly annoying, he thinks and rubs his face, and it is only then that he sees his blue hands and remembers the incident from last night. With his body still coming down from whatever happened in his dreams, he can't find it in himself to be mad at Sirius, which is just another reason for him to hate having this kind of feelings.

  
Fortunately the dorm seems to be empty, so Crispin can get some clothes from his trunk and disappear into the bathroom without any embarrassing encounters with his room mates. He takes another quick shower, and it seems like the blue has even gotten a bit lighter now. Not that it makes it any less noticeable.

  
When he reaches the common room he finds Evan crying tears of laugher while Severus glares at him, his bright blue face partially hidden by strands of his hair.

  
“You meant that fucking literally last night!” He collapses onto one of the sofas and shakes his head. “You’re fucking blue!” After laughing for another minute he clears his throat and wipes his face. “Sorry, Sev. Uhm, how… how did that happen?” Severus looks like he is about to murder Evan while he tells him about the incident. Crispin, certain that it will end with the two of them insulting Potter and planning some petty revenge, walks straight past them and joins Alistair and Donovan at one of the tables in the corner.

  
“Looking good”, Alistair greets him with a sharp grin.

  
“Thank you.”

  
“You know, if it doesn’t go away you could ask Tilda to do some of her make-up charms. You’d probably look like a bender but at least… not blue.”

  
“I am certain Madam Pomfrey knows a way to help.”

  
Despite not feeling ashamed easily, Crispin is quite uncomfortable as he follows Severus through the dungeons half an hour later. Breakfast time is almost over and most students are already coming back.

  
“Snivellus! Looking good today!” They reach the Entrance Hall, and of course James Potter is leaning against the wall next to the stairs, a shit-eating grin on his face, his friends right beside him. Crispin glances at Sirius, who has his arms crossed and his hand in front of his mouth, a desperate attempt to hide his laughter, and he shrugs softly when their eyes meet. Crispin clenches his teeth. He truly wants to be angry at him but finds himself unable to. But of course Sirius doesn’t have to know that.

  
Severus grabs Crispin by his sleeve and pulls him with him, apparently not interested in reacting to Potter’s taunting.

  
“Oh Snivellus, no need to be so blue!”, Potter calls after them, and Severus’ grasp tightens. He doesn’t let go until they reach the Hospital Wing, his lips nothing but a firm line.

  
Madam Pomfrey doesn’t ask unnecessary questions, she asks them to sit in front of her office, disappears for about half an hour and then hands each of them a small bottle filled with an ointment, telling them to apply it every three hours. By Monday morning their skin is only ever so slightly tinted but there is little they can do about the blue in their eyes but wait.

  
Crispin heads to his Transfiguration class, the book he promised to give Sirius in his bag. It might not be wise to do that in class, with all the other people watching, but it’s not like he manages to catch him on his own on a daily basis. And he honestly doesn't care what the others may or may not think.

  
Alistair motions him to take place on the empty seat beside him and Crispin gives him a brief nod and raises his index finger as he approaches Sirius, who sits on top of a table across the room, Peter and Remus by his side. Fortunately James is busy talking to Lily two rows ahead, so he won’t have to deal with him.

  
“Sirius”, Crispin says, and the other boy turns his head, a smile immediately appearing on his face.

  
“Hey! You’re… ah, not even that blue anymore”, Sirius greets him, hardly suppressing his laughter.

  
“You wouldn’t know who’s responsible for that, would you?”

  
“Not in the slightest, sorry… but I think whoever did that considers you an… unfortunate casualty.” Remus snorts as he pulls some parchment out his bag, and Sirius softly kicks his shoulder.

  
“Unfortunate indeed”, Crispin says, careful not to sound too amused. He reaches into his own bag and retrieves his copy of Giovanni’s room. The cover is magically blackened, as he usually does with his books, and Sirius eyes it curiously.

  
“Ah, of course… thanks. I hope you don’t expect me to -“

  
“If everybody would take their seats, please. And no, the table is not a seat, Mr Black”, Professor McGonagall interrupts him, and Sirius quietly slides off the table while Crispin hurries to the back, sitting down next to Alistair.

  
“What was that?”, he whispers into Crispin’s ear.

  
“Book about advanced potion making”, Crispin lies, “He’s been having trouble with -“

  
“Mr Bonham, if you’re that eager to talk why don’t you tell us all about the risks of reverse transfiguration spells?”


	5. What Is Your Desire?

_”Confusion is a luxury which only the very, very young can possibly afford and you are not that young anymore."_

  
It’s Friday afternoon and Crispin is back at his spot by the lake, having managed to write for a solid hour until the springy steps returned, gravel crunching underneath Sirius’ feet as he walks down the path. The air smells like rain and the past two days have brought a chilliness, a first prospect of autumn. Crispin has spent every possible minute outside, aware that autumn will bring clouds and rain and eventually, winter.

  
As Sirius finishes his quote Crispin cracks one eye open and slightly tilts his head, a smile appearing on his face. He has been wondering when they would meet again outside the classroom. Apparently Sirius had been rather busy as Crispin barely saw him around, not even with another girl, much to Crispin’s satisfaction.

  
“I take it you have finished the book.” A sudden wave of nervousness surges through him, and he can only hope it doesn't show on his face.

  
“Well, yes", Sirius says slowly and climbs onto the wall, assuming the exact same position as the last time they met here, "Though I'm not a hundred percent sure what you're trying to tell me. I mean, not that you are trying to tell me anything, it’s just a book, not, like, a letter or something, but I asked Remus, and he read a few pages and then threw the book at my head, so it might just me being a bit stupid, but..." He's rambling, and it's adorable. It also helps Crispin to calm down a little, because if Sirius doesn't have it all figured out, he doesn't have to either. He puts parchment and quill aside and tilts his head back until he can look into Sirius' eyes.

  
"Giovanni's Room is an antidote to shame", he explains simply, and can't stifle a chuckle when Sirius looks at him like he just told him that Thestrals are, in fact, pink.

"Giovanni's room is a safe space, almost its own tiny world in which there is no need for shame. The problem is that the room isn’t the real world. David and Giovanni’s entire relationship is a farce, happening behind closed doors because of David’s deep rooted shame and self-disgust, and - and you are not listening to me anymore.” Sirius is staring at him, thoughts obviously far, far away.

  
“Your eyes are blue”, he mumbles when his brain seems to realise that Crispin isn’t talking anymore. “I’m sorry for dyeing you blue. It was my idea but I didn’t know you’d be there as well.”

  
Crispin, deciding to let Sirius’ lack of focus slide for now, lifts his hands above his face and looks at the faint traces of blue still visible around his knuckles. He is about to tell Sirius that he accepts his apology when the other boy suddenly closes his fingers around Crispin’s and pulls them further up, thumbs circling the blue spots. The words get stuck in his throat and he can only stare at where they are joined, his heart speeding up until he thinks it’s about to burst out of its cage. Seconds pass and the silence between them threatens to shift into something more awkward and Crispin realises he has to do something. He has thought this through, over and over again, coming to the conclusion that he has absolutely nothing to lose. And he prides himself with knowing what he wants and knowing how to get it, therefore he must be the one to act now, no matter how nervous he feels all of the sudden.

  
He slowly moves his hands up over Sirius' arms until they touch his face and he lets his fingers run over the boy’s cheeks to the back of his head, pulling softly. Sirius’ eyes widen when he understands what Crispin is urging him to do and Crispin can see him swallow, then he follows the pressure on his neck and bends down until his hair falls like a curtain to either side of Crispin’s face, blocking out the world around them so it’s only the two of them. Their mouths touch, and Crispin doesn’t care that the angle is off, or that Sirius’ bottom lip is chapped from rolling it between his teeth, or that it’s nothing more but a peck and Sirius is pulling back all too soon. It’s perfect.

  
“Bloody hell”, Sirius says, looking like a kid who can’t seem to believe he got everything he wanted for Christmas, “I wasn’t sure… I mean…” He grimaces and averts his gaze, the hint of a flush appearing on his pale cheeks. Reluctantly Crispin lets go of Sirius’ head and twists himself around until he is propped up on one elbow. This way he can pull Sirius into a proper kiss, with the proper angle and proper tenderness, and he can’t help but sigh against the other boy’s lips. Fingers run through his hair, aimlessly roaming, pulling and pushing, and Crispin’s mind goes blank. He doesn’t know how much time passes, but when they part his breathing is elevated and a surging pain in his elbow makes itself felt, the sharp edges of the stone wall cutting into his skin. He doesn’t care.

  
“Wow”, Sirius whispers.

  
“Yeah”, Crispin agrees. It is hard to believe it’s only the third time they’re completely alone with each other and he says exactly that, causing Sirius to give another, slightly nervous chuckle.

  
“I’ve wanted to do this since you nearly hit me with that Calvario spell”, he admits, “But I had no idea you… I mean I usually don’t… but after last week I thought that maybe…” With a shake of his head he interrupts himself and Crispin can’t help but laugh, a warm, rare sound that comes straight from the warm, fuzzy bubble in his belly, something he has never felt before. But he read about it, the butterflies, and he still finds himself on the fence whether he likes it or not. However, before he can give his brain time to think he pulls himself further up until he is sitting cross-legged on the wall and he leans forward to kiss Sirius again. His hands are roaming over Sirius’ back now, grabbing the bare skin of his neck, soft and warm underneath the tips of his fingers. The first few raindrops start falling on his face but he doesn’t stop. He wants Sirius and he is going to take him, because that’s what he does, every inch of Sirius belongs to him in, at least in this moment. Crispin is aware that he is not an experienced kisser, how could he be, but he adapts quickly, figures out what his tongue is supposed to do and what it isn’t, imitating Sirius’ moves, and it doesn’t take long until Sirius is quivering against him, his fingers clawing at Crispin’s robe. When he finally lets him go, the drizzle is slowly but steadily turning into a shower, and Sirius is clearly struggling to recover his breath. Despite the cold wind that arrived with the rain Crispin feels hot, his clothes suddenly uncomfortably tight, and his heart is racing. He needs a break, he needs to calm down a little and allow himself some time to think, but when Sirius lifts his chin and looks at him, cheeks flushed, hair tousled, lips slightly parted, he simply has to pull him in again.

  
“Wait”, Sirius says, still a little breathless, and pushes against Crispin’s chest, “I need a minute, I’m…” He waves his hand above his lap and his cheeks turn an even deeper shade of red. Crispin nods, a smile forcing its way onto his face. He understands only too well, but that doesn’t change that he wants to continue, wants to make Sirius all his and his alone. It’s a strong urge, and Crispin closes his eyes for a second, reminding himself to stay in control of his own emotions. Instead of kissing Sirius again he lets his head fall forward until it touches Sirius’ chest. He can smell soil, probably a remainder from Herbology class earlier, and Sirius’ very own scent, merely a faint trace of warm, earthy sweat. Cosy is the word that comes to Crispin’s mind, and he is glad the rational part of his brain is currently on standby, because it definitely wouldn’t agree with his sentimental notions. But there is something else, some underlying smell he can’t place properly but reminds him a little of his old neighbours’ dog.

  
“Your parchment”, Sirius says all of the sudden, and Crispin recoils, his hand instinctively reaching for his wand. By now it’s pouring down, the rain soaking their clothes, and he has completely forgotten about his writing. Ushering a quick spell the parchment flies into his hand, but it is already too late, the ink has dissolved into unreadable lines and smudges. It isn’t that bad, he has only filled half a foot of this scroll, but annoying nonetheless, and the disruption was enough to end the moment between him and Sirius. Suddenly he is aware of the cold wet, clothes sticking to his body, water dripping from his hair down his face.

  
“We rather go back”, he says quietly and Sirius nods, and a lightning bolt cracks through the grey blanket of clouds, striking the ground right on the other side of the lake, followed by a ear-deafening roll of thunder. Crispin flinches and Sirius almost leaps off the wall if not for Crispin’s quick reflexes. Seconds pass as they look at each other in silence, then they both burst into laughter.

  
“Merlin’s beard, we should definitely hurry”, Sirius says and slides off the wall.

  
They run back to the castle with their hands intertwined, still laughing, and Crispin realises he hasn’t enjoyed himself that much in weeks, maybe even months. By the time they reach the Entrance Hall they are thoroughly soaked, and Sirius leans against the door, shaking his head like a wet dog, water spilling everywhere. A steady flow of students is passing through, coming down the Grand Staircase on their way to dinner, but they don’t pay them any attention.

  
“You going to Hogsmeade tomorrow?”, Sirius asks, glancing at a group of first years.

  
“Yes”, Crispin answers. Avery had been talking about it all week, apparently the woman he has an affair with, Bellatrix, is going to come, bringing some of her friends along. Crispin isn’t invited, but Alistair offered to show him around and while spending a day reading in an almost empty common room sounds marvellous, he is curious about Britain’s only wizard village.

  
“We’ll probably be at the Three Broomsticks, come by if you want to. I promise James will be tame."

  
“I’ll think about it.” Sirius moves in front of him and rubs his thumb over Crispin’s lips, a brief touch that doesn’t last for more than a second but it’s enough to make Crispin’s heart stutter.

  
“See you tomorrow”, Sirius says and then he’s gone, and Crispin can’t do anything but stare after him for a minute or two, trying to catch up with everything that has happened.

 

 

It's still raining by the time tomorrow comes and Crispin keeps his head low as he follows Avery's lead to Hogsmeade, surrounded by about half a dozen other Slytherins, the hood of his jacket protecting him from the wet. The tips of his boots are covered in mud, even his trousers are sprinkled with dirt halfway up to his knees. Crispin deeply regrets his decision to leave Hogwarts.

  
"Don't expect to see the sun again until March", Alistair says and nudges Crispin's side, "If we're lucky."

  
"Wonderful." He sidesteps a puddle. It's not only the rain that darkens his mood, he has also barely slept. Every time he closed his eyes Sirius' face popped up in front of him, and it made him feel an endless amount of emotions he couldn't digest all at the same time. Kissing had been nice before, enjoyable, but now that he experienced it in combination with actual attraction for the person he is kissing, it's a different matter entirely. But he can't stop wondering where any of this is leading. They might have kissed but they still don't know each other. Although his mental tab on Sirius is longer than anybody else's at Hogwarts, he has no idea who he actually is. What he wants to do with his life, where he goes when he feels down, which sort of ice cream he prefers. Things Crispin usually doesn't care about but seem to be elemental for something as intimate as a relationship. There is a reason he doesn't consider himself boyfriend material. Sadly, nothing of this stops his mind from providing him with a steady flow of images that suggest exactly that: Sirius and him in all sorts of situations, and Crispin can't decide which ones are worse, the emotional or the sexual ones.

  
"Welcome to Hogsmeade", Alistair says, pulling him out of his thoughts, and Crispin lifts his head to see rows of little thatched cottages and a curved road leading through the middle, filled with groups of Hogwarts students, all hurrying to get out of the rain. Personally he prefers large cities, and not only because he is used to living in places like London and Boston. He likes the anonymity and the promise of endless possibilities, but he can’t deny that Hogsmeade has its own personal charm, albeit he would prefer to see it in sunlight.

  
"Ayla lives right behind Honeydukes, we'll meet Bellatrix and the others there", Avery says, "Come on."

  
"I have to go to the post office", Donovan starts but gets interrupted by Avery's scoff.

  
"Donny, we all know you're having a date with that Ravenclaw girl. No need to lie."

  
"We're meeting at the post office..."

  
"Who the fuck meets their date at the post office?", Evan shouts from the back.

  
"Alright, I see you guys later", Donovan says, ignoring the others, and turns left. The rest of their group proceeds to hurry through the rain, along the high street, past a variety of shops, all filled to the brim with students. Crispin spots a quill shop and decides to pay it a visit later. He could use some new ink and he is definitely running low on parchment.

  
"The Three Broomsticks Inn is right opposite Honeydukes, we could go straight there if you want to escape the rain", Alistair says, "Or we go through town, it's up to you." Sometimes Crispin wonders who Alistair spent all his time with for the last five years. Although he seems to be close to Donovan they rarely hang out together. But then again it isn't up to Crispin to judge the quality of other people's friendships.

  
"What is Honeydukes?"

  
"A sweet shop. Want to go in?"

  
"I don't eat sweets." It comes out far more rude than intended, and Crispin tries to diminish his harsh tone with a smile, "But we can go there, if you want anything."

Alistair only shakes his head.

  
They reach Honeydukes and Avery opens his mouth to say something, but a female voice shouting his name interrupts him. They all turn around and see a tall woman stepping out of Honeydukes', a bag of sweets in her hand. Crispin estimates her to be in her early twenties and she is strangely attractive, with her sharp features and the tremendous black mane that somehow reminds him of Sirius.

  
"Bella", Avery says and welcomes her with a kiss on the cheek, and although he definitely doesn't look his age, Crispin finds it hard to imagine that they are actually having an affair. Bellatrix throws a sweet into her mouth and eyes them all curiously.

  
"Dear, dear, you have brought fresh meat", she says and tilts her head to the side, giving Crispin a once-over, her eyes darting up and down his body with the same attentive spark as Sirius. Crispin groans internally, desperate to banish Sirius from his thoughts, but to no avail.

  
"He won't be joining us", Avery says.

  
"Pity, he's cute." She approaches him slowly and gives a short, hysterical laugh, and Crispin begins to understand why the others call her crazy. "What's your name, boy?"

  
"Crispin Bonham", he says, his shoulders squared. He has to put a lot of effort into his posture and facial expression to counter her intimidating vibes. The smile, the sweets, the lovely face, it all doesn't hide the fact that everything about her just screams dangerous.

  
"Why won't you be joining us, Crispin Bonham?"

  
"Your Dark Lord doesn't offer anything I desire." She comes closer, her face now hovering merely an inch in front of his.

  
"What is it you desire?"

  
"Love and world peace", he answers wryly, because his true desires are none of her business. She laughs again, and the sound is ringing painfully in his ears.   
"I like him!", she says eventually, turning towards Avery, "Make sure he'll join us next time." Avery huffs.

  
“Bella, let’s go. We have quite a lot to discuss.”

  
“Killjoy.” Bellatrix runs one finger over Avery’s cheek and Crispin can’t stop the image of the two of them in bed together from popping up in his mind. It’s utterly disturbing. When they leave only Alistair and Crispin stay behind, and Bellatrix turns around before she disappears around the corner and winks at Crispin, and he hasn't felt that uncomfortable in a long time.

  
"I really don't like her", Alistair says, and Crispin couldn't agree more. “Seriously, the entire Black family is weird.”

  
“Black?”

  
“Yes, Bellatrix is Regulus’ cousin. Didn’t you know that?” Crispin shakes his head. It shouldn’t be that much of a surprise, most pure-blood families are related one way or another, but Crispin can’t help but wonder if there has ever been an awkward family Christmas dinner with Sirius and Bellatrix forced to face each other. He doubts they get along that well.

  
“Anyway, where do you want to go?” Alistair begins listing all the shops in Hogsmeade and because it’s almost impossible for them to get any wetter, Crispin decides to explore the village before heading to the Three Broomsticks, mostly because he doesn't know yet if he wants to join Sirius and his friends, especially with Alistair accompanying him. Even if they would accept Alistair at their table, he doubts they would suddenly get along, after all James attacked him not even a month ago. And, of course, he doesn’t want any of the Slytherins to be involved in whatever it is he has with Sirius, not even Alistair.

  
"And this is Zonko's. If you ever want to prank someone, you'll get everything you need here", Alistair explains as they pass a shop that seems even more jammed than Honeydukes, and Crispin is certain he can see Sirius among the students crammed into the building. "But let me guess, you're not interested in that."

  
"No, I'm not", Crispin answers absentmindedly, because it is indeed Sirius, and he is throwing something at James who hurries to take cover behind another student. For a brief moment he wishes he would be there instead of James, fooling around with Sirius before heading for a drink. They would laugh, and then he would take Sirius' hand, and -

  
"Crispin? You still with me?" Crispin shakes his head, banishing the images from his mind. They are stupid, incredibly stupid and immature.

  
“Yes, sorry. I would like to go to the quill shop."

  
"Alright."

  
At Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop Crispin purchases more supplies than he will ever need, but there is so much choice that he simply can't settle for less. Alistair gives him a few looks ranging from confusion to amusement, but doesn't comment. Instead he drags him to Dominic Maestro's Music Shop and Gladrags Wizardwear, buying a birthday present for his sister in the former and a new set of robes in the latter, and by the time they queue to pay for Alistair's clothes, Crispin has finally decided he needs to see Sirius, even if that means he has to explain it to Alistair.

  
The Three Broomsticks is buzzing, and all the tables are already occupied. Large wooden arches frame the ceiling, giving the pub a rusty but cosy atmosphere, and magical fires burn in small notches in the walls. Crispin feels like he stepped into a steam sauna, and he shrugs out of his jacket und pushes the sleeves of his jumper up to his elbows, his body surprised by the sudden heat.

  
“Butterbeer?”, Alistair asks. Crispin nods and follows Alistair to the counter while he lets his eyes wander over the countless faces until he finds what he is looking for. The four Gryffindors are sitting at a table in the corner, one steaming mug in front of each one of them.

  
"I have promised Sirius to join him here today. You are welcome to come with me but I would understand if you prefer not to." It's useless to sugarcoat this, so Crispin doesn’t even try to. Alistair turns towards him, looking at him as if he just admitted to a secret relationship with Professor McGonagall.

  
"Sirius Black? What are you... since when are you friends with Sirius Black?"

  
"We met on the train and got along."

  
"But... you know what he did to me, right? And it wasn't just that one time, it happened before."

  
"I know, but he never did anything to-"

  
"He turned you blue!" Crispin doesn't expect him to understand, and he can't exactly tell him what's really going on between them, so he decides not to continue this conversation. Alistair rubs his face, then, as it's finally their turn to order, asks for two mugs of hot butterbeer.

  
"It's obviously your choice who you hang out with. Just let me tell you, it's a mistake. Just because Black has his own fan club run by a fourth year and Potter is seen as the coolest guy on earth doesn't mean they are the ones to follow if you want to become popular, or whatever it is you... desire." Crispin doesn't try to tell him that he couldn't care less about popularity. If Alistair wants to think that, it's fine. It's an explanation after all, and if it satisfies his curiousity, he won't correct him. "Go ahead. I'll find someone else to spend the day with."

  
"I'm sorry, Alistair." He isn't, but apologies never hurt.

  
"Yeah. Next time, tell me before I clear my plans." Alistair presses the mug into Crispin's hand, shakes his head when he tries to pay him, and disappears in the crowd. Crispin doesn't look after him, instead he weaves his way in the opposite direction, slowly approaching Sirius' table. He can't deny he's starting to feel a little nervous as he gets closer. Not because of Sirius, but because of his friends. While he has never talked to Peter and his few interactions with Remus have been friendly, he sincerely doubts he will ever get along with James.

  
Remus notices him first, and he grants him a smile, drawing his friends' attention towards him.

  
"Hey!", Sirius greets him immediately, "Sit down!" Crispin chooses the free space next to Remus, who moves a little closer to Peter so Crispin doesn't have to sit on one butt cheek. James is eyeing him warily but doesn't say anything, instead he takes a sip from his mug, or attempts to, because all of the sudden he yelps, butterbeer spraying all over the table.

  
"Ow, what was that for?", he asks Sirius.

  
"I told you to be nice."

  
"I didn't even say anything!"

  
"Doesn't matter, I can hear you thinking." James groans and takes off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose.

  
"Hi Crispin", he says and it doesn't even sound as forced as Crispin expected.

  
“Hello James”, Crispin answers, considering a smile but ultimately deciding against it. It wouldn't seem real anyway. James' expression doesn't change and the rising silence is awkward and uncomfortable, and Crispin knows he has to break the ice.

  
"Sirius, why haven't you told me you have your own fan club?" James snorts, and Peter and Remus chuckle. Sirius rolls his eyes but can't quite manage to hide the smug grin that creeps up on his face.

  
"What can I say, some girls seem to think I'm handsome."

  
"Last year they followed him everywhere, for months", James says.

  
"And he loved every second of it", Peter adds.

  
"I didn't!"

  
"Of course not", Remus says.

  
“ _Oh, James, I don't know what to do, all these girls want me, I'm such a poor lad_. Yeah, I definitely remember you saying that."

  
"It was annoying, they wouldn't even let me go to the loo.”

  
"Yeah, because you didn't mind snogging them in a stall." At that Sirius blushes and glances at Crispin, and Crispin wonders what he told his friends about their relationship. Do they think they are friends? Or do they know about what happened by the lake? Crispin truly can't tell. Remus must know about their intentions, after all he has seen the book Crispin gave Sirius to read, and James probably knows about every single thought that’s going on in Sirius’ head, but right now there is no way of knowing it for sure.

  
"I still think that's gross, by the way", Remus says and drinks from his butterbeer.

  
"Wait, but Wor- Pete feeling up his girlfriend in a stall isn't gross?"

  
"I never did that!"

  
"Liar." Peter groans and hides his face behind his mug. Crispin catches himself smiling and he allows his body to release some of the tension. He definitely managed to break the ice.

  
“So, Crispin, you had a girlfriend at Ilvermorny?", James asks him.

  
"No", Crispin answers, observing Sirius’ desperate attempt at hiding his curiousity from the corner of his eyes.

  
“A boyfriend?” Sirius chokes on his own breath and James moves his hand to pat his friend’s back as he starts coughing, eyes not leaving Crispin for a single second.   
“No.” Honesty is easy, because there are many ways that lead to the truth. A simple no is just as true as telling them he's never been truly interested in a relationship before would be, or that everybody he has ever found aesthetically pleasing couldn't hold his interest for long enough to pursue anything.

  
James leans in.

  
"And what made you choose to join Sirius' fan club?" He hasn't even closed his mouth when his face contorts in a pained expression and another yelp escapes him, and his head turns towards Sirius.

  
"Stop kicking me! You told me to play nice, so I am. I'm making conversation." Sirius groans.

  
"I need some firewhiskey", he mutters and climbs off the bench. James watches him go, and when Sirius is out of hearing distance, he turns and looks at Crispin, his expression stern.

  
“Don’t fuck with him.” Crispin wonders what the reason for this warning is. Either it’s because he is a guy, or because he is a Slytherin, or because James says this to everybody Sirius kisses. He has a lingering feeling it’s the second. Which, in a weird way, is highly amusing for Crispin. Everybody talks about Sirius’ vanity, his ego, the countless girls he could have if he wanted to, and which he, depending on who you ask, at least uses for a quick snog in one of the castle’s many corners. Crispin should be the one in need of protection, not the other way around. But then again, there is probably nobody who knows Sirius better than James.

  
“I won’t.” It is that easy. He has nothing to gain from fooling around.

  
“Good. Because no matter what Sirius says you didn’t end up in Slytherin by accident.”

  
"Merlin's beard, James, he doesn't exactly have a dark mark on his forehead", Remus says.

  
"Yet!", James answers and takes a sip from his butterbeer. When he sets down the mug there's a smile plastered across his face and he suddenly seems much more at ease. "I'm just giving the speech that is expected from me."

  
"You never gave Katrina any speeches", Peter says. James snorts.

  
"Well, we all knew there was no need for speeches. She's not exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer."

  
"Katrina?", Crispin asks, curious about what they have to say about Sirius' apparent ex-girlfriend.

  
"One of the driving forces behind Sirius' fan club", Remus explains with a soft chuckle.

  
"Yeah. Managed to talk Sirius into dating her", James says.

  
"Disastrous. Sweet girl but…”, Remus says.

  
"But Sirius definitely needs someone with a little more self-assertion."

  
"And wits", Remus adds.

  
"Yeah, and the ability to give him shit when he deserves it." James shakes his head. Before they can say anything else, Sirius returns with a glass of whiskey in his hand, and Peter eyes it as his friend sits down.

  
“I really wonder how you do that. Every time I try to get one, Rosmerta just laughs at me.”

  
“Because when you try to flirt, Petey, you look like you’re constipated.” James laughs, and the tension eases, and suddenly they’re in the middle of a discussion about Peter’s flirting abilities. Somehow they get from there to Quidditch, again, and soon enough Crispin finds himself telling them about Ilvermorny’s unyielding Quidditch matches, and for once James actually seems fascinated by what he has to say. He played for the Thunderbirds’ team for two years, his quick reflexes making him an excellent Keeper. They won the Championship both times, although Crispin truly doesn’t believe it was his doing. There’s a lot more to the sport than just keeping the rings clean.

  
“Why didn’t you try out for this year’s team?”, Remus asks.

  
“It requires too much time”, Crispin answers with a brief shrug. Classes, studying and writing are his priorities this year, twice weekly Quidditch training simply doesn’t fit into his schedule anymore.

  
“If you’re really that good it’s better if you don’t play. Can’t have Slytherin win the Cup”, James says, and although he smiles Crispin knows he means it. 

 

 

The sun, albeit hidden behind a thick layer of clouds, is about to set when Crispin heads back to Hogwarts with the Gryffindors. There’s another thunderstorm rumbling in the distance but at least the rain has subsided, leaving the road muddy and covered with puddles. They’re halfway up to the castle when Sirius nudges his side and motions him to walk a little slower. James only gives them a look.

  
“I hope it wasn’t too bad”, Sirius says quietly and Crispin shakes his head. It truly wasn’t. “Just wanted James to know you’re not even half as awful as he thinks.”   
“Board’s still open!”, James calls from the front.

  
“Stop eavesdropping!” Sirius grabs Crispin’s hand and pulls him further back until they’re out of hearing distance. His fingers are icy. Crispin wraps his own around them and starts kneading, his other hand angling for Sirius’ left to give it the same treatment. It’s awkward, walking like that, but Sirius’ grin makes it worth it.

  
“See, not awful at all”, Sirius whispers and throws a look over his shoulder before raising himself on his tiptoes and placing a kiss on Crispin’s cheek. It costs all of Crispin’s self restraint not to stop walking and pull him into a proper kiss right there in the middle of the road.


End file.
